Stolen Notes
by Serenitey
Summary: Five years ago Ginny Weasley disappeared from Harry Potter and the Wizarding World. What happens when she is found, a hidden passion and a forbidden relationship are revealed?
1. Chapter 1

**Stolen Notes**

Disclaimer: Every thing is mine…except for the things that aren't.

**A/N:**

I starting writing this story quite a while ago so it is compliant with HBP and below. I've recently picked it back up so I hope to be able to post fairly freqently.

**Chapter One: Trapped**

He watched her from the back of the crowded room, subtly craning his neck to catch a glimpse of her. She stood there beside them with a smile plastered to her face, the envy of every witch in London. She watched them give their speeches, looking solemn at the appropriate intervals.

For the 15 minutes she'd stood before him, he hadn't been able to tear his eyes away. He'd watched her through out the speech of Arthur Weasley not a single syllable penetrating his mind. She stood there, that git's arm wrapped around her slim waist, her friend's arm encircling her, her brother's large hands resting protectively on her shoulders. When the git moved to make his speech, her brother took his place at her side.

It had been a year since he'd seen her and his eyes traitorously drank their fill of her. Though his chest constricted painfully, he couldn't tear his eyes away. She looked too thin. Not that any one else would have noticed. She hadn't reached the point of gaunt yet but she'd lost weight. It was only a matter of time. He watched entranced as she lifted her arm, her long, elegant and perfectly manicured fingers brushing stray strands of hair from her eyes. His eyes narrowed on the ring adorning her finger. Inwardly he scoffed, while being careful to maintain the look of indifference that served him so well.

The ring had a thick gold band holding a large diamond flanked by rubies. It _was_ a beautiful ring he conceded but it was a large, ostentatious and clearly expensive ring that drew attention. _Not at all to her tastes._

He stared at her without being able to decide whether he wanted her to see him or if he wanted her never to know he was there. He knew it had to be the latter. She wouldn't see him now anyway. Not anymore. Not after what he did. Not after what he said. The last words he spoke to her echoed painfully in his head.

"_Revenge," he'd said coldly, sneering at her._

"_What?" she asked, her voice cracking through the disbelief._

"_You actually thought I'd let you get away with doing that to me? That you could choose him and then come running to me because he was everything I told you he was?"_

_He watched as tears began to leak out, running down her face. He turned away as unable as ever to see her cry. He fought the urge to take her in his arms and kiss those wretched tears away. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to her but he had to do this. Mentally, he took a deep breath preparing himself for this attack. He closed his eyes, pain flicking across his unguarded face. _

_He calmly took a sip of fire whisky before turning and coldly, cruelly continuing, "Did you really think that I'd still want **you** after all this time? After everything you did with him? Did you think that I'd want you when every woman in England is throwing herself at me?" He laughed as her as she began to sob audibly. He laughed maliciously at her pain desperately hoping that she couldn't see his own. _

"_Although I have to say," he said moving towards her and running a hand down her bare arm and over the top of her thigh, before coming to a stop at her hip. He smiled, letting his hand lightly trail along the flesh beneath the top button of her jeans. "that you really were a good fuck." _

_She moved violently away from him, slapping his arm down. She looked at him as though he had struck her. Her bright brown eyes stained red from her tears stared at him. _

"_But really I can get a good fuck anywhere. Course if you want to go again for all times sake…"_

It was a question from Colin Creevey that finally broke him out of his trance.

"Mr. Potter with you and Miss Weasley getting married next month when can we expect the pitter patter of little Potter feet?"

"Don't worry," Harry said his eyes sparkling. "We're working on it."

Draco felt his stomach drop and his heart damn near stop at the git's words. He watched Ginny – _his Ginny_ - searching for her reaction. He watched her with fear. As he stared at her he saw nothing. She was empty.

"Bloody hell I **hate** those fucking press conferences!" Harry glowered as he ripped his tie off from around his neck, throwing himself into the kitchen chair. "Don't ruddy well see why I had to be there!"

"It was the one year anniversary Harry," Ginny said tiredly, having constantly had the same conversation with him for the past week. "You know you had to be there."

"I could have just gone to the remembrance ceremony and unveiling!" Harry said. "Bloody Creevey bombarding me with questions was not my idea of a tribute!"

"I know," Ginny said sympathetically. _God had it only been a year? It felt so much longer._

A year ago today Harry had come face to face with the man that had haunted her dreams since she was eleven years old. Skewed detail of 'The Final Battle' had been splashed over every newspaper in the Wizarding world. The Boy Who Lived had done it again. Her own role in the battle had been the most inaccurate in its portrayal. Kidnapped to lure Harry Potter to Lord Voldemort. _That's a laugh!_ Nobody had bothered to correct them. They had lost so many over the course of the war and almost the same again on the night of The Final Battle that it didn't seem important. Her own family had been lucky. They hadn't lost anyone. Although over half had been seriously injured.

Bill still suffered from the werewolf attack in her fifth year, Charlie had been stabbed with a dagger charmed to prevent coagulating and almost bled to death. Percy had been tortured with the Cruciatus Curse within an inch of his life. Fred had been hit with more curses than the healers at St. Mungo's knew what to do with. It had seemed that the more curses they removed the more that afflicted him. It had taken two months for all the curses and hexes to be removed and then a further three days for him to regain consciousnesses. George had been like a zombie the entire time barley letting the Healers tend to his broken bones and the gashes that marred his body. The usual jovial spark in his eyes was diminished to the point of non-existent. He seemed to lose motor functions as well, finding it difficult to accomplish the simplest of tasks. Ron, despite six months of intensive physical therapy, still walked with a limp after taking a cursed aimed at Hermione. Harry was so exhausted after the battle that he laid unconscious for almost a week.

Rumors ran wild as to what was afflicting him. It ranged from something resembling the truth of being weak after the battle to Harry commanding a giant snake to devour Voldemort and it turning on him. That particular story was thought to be plausible due to Voldemort and Harry's shared gift of Parselmouth and the fact that Arthur Weasley had previously almost lost his life in a similar fashion.

Ginny had also ended up in St. Mungos unconscious for two days but only two people were still alive to attest to why. Her condition had mostly been overlooked by her family with so many of her brothers being injured and then, thankfully, by press with two of the three Golden Trio taking up temporary residence at St. Mungo's.

Today marked the one-year anniversary of the end of a war that waged for 6 years. There had been a remembrance ceremony in a large garden near Diagon Alley. In the heart of the gardens was a large marble monument with the name of every person who had lost their lives in the war engraved upon the gold scroll affixed to it. It was simple but elegant. A fitting testament to those who were lost. The garden had overflowed with people all clambering to pay their respects and catch a glimpse of the infamous trio, who had become synonymous with the end of Lord Voldemort's rein of terror, blood and mayhem.

She had stood beside him through it, feeling trapped as Harry, Ron or Hermione were constantly by her side. When they'd moved to accommodate the press conference she had been forced onto the raised platform of a stage to stand with them as her father, who was appointed Minister of Magic upon the war's conclusion, gave a speech and answered their many questions.

Harry had been next giving her a short reprieve in the form of space only to have it snatched away from her as Ron took up his place at her side. She felt sick as Harry told the crowd of paper cut ridden leeches that they would soon be having children but she hadn't said anything to counter his claim or to disillusion her mother of the idea as they had joined the feast that followed the press conference. As soon as they apparated home Ginny knew he would start going on about the press and how unfair it was that he had to be there and she was right.

"I will never understand why your father thought it was important for there to be one. The Ceremony and Unveiling were enough. Not to mention the feast!"

"I know," Ginny repeated, sliding her cloak from her shoulders, hanging her and Harry's cloaks on their racks. Harry watched her as she did so. He hadn't noticed what she was wearing before. She had on a tailored deep purple shirt that, he noted with approval, stretched nicely across her breasts when she stretched to hang the cloaks, paired with a black skirt that came to just above her knees. She'd worn her long amber hair down but held off her face with an emerald dragon clip Charlie had given her. He continued to watch her as she went to the fridge to pour herself a glass of water, the charm bracelet she'd received from her family on her sixteenth birthday jingling softly as she moved.

She didn't turn around when she heard his chair scrape along the floor as he raised himself and took the few paces towards her as she finished cleaning and drying her glass. His hands gripped her waist and pulled her back so she was flush with his body. She felt his erection digging into her, his hands trailed upwards releasing the buttons of her shirt as he went. With her shirt hanging open and her black satin bra exposed he turned her body to face him. He released her hair from its dragon keeper, placing the clip on the kitchen sink before kissing her soundly, his tongue swirling around in her mouth. His hands came to rest on her backside pulling her closer to him still. He moaned at the increased contact, released her from his grip and grabbed her hand pulling her towards their large bedroom.

Harry quickly divested them of clothing, laying Ginny down on the bed his mouth attached to her left breast. Within moments Ginny felt his knee nudging her thighs apart. He let out a loud groan as he entered her. He punctuated each thrust with a moan, ceasing to touch or kiss her as he took his pleasure from her body. His thoughts not moving past the next thrust. When his thrusts became erratic Ginny arched her back beneath him letting out a time perfected breathy moan. Harry came with a cry of her name before slumping down heavily on top of her. She rarely came with Harry not that he ever noticed. He rolled off her a few moments later promptly falling asleep.

Ginny lay awake simply staring at the ceiling until she could no longer bear being so close to him. She pushed the heavy blankets off herself, the bed was always to warm for her and raised herself intent on getting her contraceptive potion from the adjoining bathroom.

She stared at herself in the mirrored door of the bathroom cabinet. Her face was so pale. Paler than it ever was before. Her freckles were like stark blobs of brown sprinkled over her face. She brought her hand to her face letting it rest on her too prominent cheekbones. Her too thin arm looked odd in its reflection. Ginny couldn't stand it anymore. Looking at the pale, fragile and broken woman staring back at her, _how haven't they noticed?_ she wondered incredulously.

Too quickly she pulled open the cabinet door, the harsh sound of glass meeting plaster echoed through the silence of the bathroom. She winced at the sound. With trepidation she slowly brought the door back to herself inspecting the damage she had inflicted. She breathed a sigh of relief. Only the corner of the mirror had broken off. She looked down at the broken piece on the tiled floor. With a muttered spell the mirror was righted.

"Ginny?" Harry's muffled voice floated to the bathroom. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just getting my contraceptive potion."

"It's not in there, Ginny," Harry answered condescendingly. "I didn't lie at the press conference."

Ginny barley kept herself from choking as the full meaning of his words hit her. _He's thrown it out! The bastard of a git has thrown out my potion!_

"Come back to bed, Ginny."

Ginny nodded mutely only dimly aware that Harry couldn't see her reply.

Sliding back under the covers, she could feel the lump that was Harry move towards her.

"We'd better make a start on keeping that promise," Harry said in what he probably thought was a sexy voice as he clambered back on top of her.

His body was spooning hers uncomfortably. His arm was like a dead weight lying across her abdomen. _I can't do this anymore_. She'd done her best. She'd tried even when every impulse she had was telling her otherwise. _I __**won't**__ do this anymore._ Carefully Ginny disentangled herself from Harry's hold on her, hoping desperately that she didn't wake him. She dressed quickly in her favourite pair of jeans and a simple white shirt. She made her way across the large bedroom she had shared with Harry bleeding Potter for the last year and slid into the walk in robe he had insisted she wanted.

From beneath her old Quidditch gear Ginny extracted a black leather bag, of similar design to her old Hogwarts book bag. With that and a pair of trainers, Ginny tiptoed out of the bedroom closing the door slowly as she left. She withdrew a piece of parchment from a draw in Harry's desk, taking as much time as she dared to write him a letter.

Returning everything to its rightful place, Ginny folded the letter and slipped it neatly in a pristine envelope before carefully leaning it against Harry's morning coffee mug that sat alone on the kitchen table. She glared at the coffee mug disdainfully. Harry always expected her to make his coffee for him. Every morning. Didn't matter that she didn't drink the stuff just that he wanted it and it was up to her to make that want a reality.

She left the apartment, her hooded traveling cloak hiding her tell tale hair and walked purposely through the darkened streets. She had two stops to make before she could go where she wanted. _Would have been one if it weren't for him!_ She thought uncharitably.

She took a deep breath before entering Gringotts bank. She only hoped that the goblins continued to live up to their 'no paying costumer shall have their privacy invaded' mentality. Once you were late on a fee that was it, they'd hand over any records to anyone who wanted them. Pulling her cloak tighter around her to ensure her face was shrouded in darkness, Ginny walked through the halls of Gringotts to a teller.

"Key please," the Goblin stated, stifling a yawn. Silently Ginny slid the small gold key over the marble counter. "Vault number 889. This way please."

The Goblin inserted the key into the stone lock before standing back accommodatingly to let Ginny pass. A considerable pile of Galleons, sickles and knuts greeted her. A few stray boxes stacked neatly in front of her gold. Few knew that she owned ten percent of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Every month she deposited her portion of the profits, along with her pay from the secretarial job her father had gotten her upon the wars end, into her personal and secret vault. Harry insisted on paying for everything, leaving Ginny with a year of unchecked income. Ginny scooped every last knut into the Gringotts supplied money bag. The bag was charmed to stay at a manageable size no matter how many coins you shoved into it. Readjusting her cloaks hood she stood and left the now empty vault.

"I'd like to close this vault," Ginny said as she and the Goblin resurfaced following the backbreaking cart ride.

"Yes ma'am," the goblin replied, conjuring a piece of parchment and a large peacock feather quill. "Sign here." Ginny thanked the Goblin who bid her farewell with abrupt politeness.

"One down, one to go," Ginny muttered under her breath as she exited the marble building.

Ginny made her way through the streets, keeping herself immersed in shadow. She blinked furiously as the flood of the streetlight hit her eyes. She quickly made her way into the Diagon Alley Pharmacy, making a beeline for the contraceptive potions. She hung around the aisles waiting as a drunken lout clumsily made his way forward with what Ginny supposed was a sobering potion. She watched biding her time as the young wizard behind the counter become visibly flustered as he tried to placate the man and finish the transaction. Ginny moved behind the intoxicated man and tutted impatiently. The wizard looked up at her apologetically before returning to the unruly wizard in front of him. After a few more moments of fussing Ginny unceremoniously threw a sickle on the counter.

"Contraceptive potion," she said curtly. "Keep the change." She turned on her heel, leaving the struggling wizards, a wide smile covering her unseen face.

When she reached the brick wall that separated the Wizarding World from muggles, she took one last look at the darkened magical street recalling all the good times she'd had here. She only had one thing from her apartment with Harry. A simple but expensive looking leather note book charmed to continually replenish itself. The cover had the Chinese symbol for 'success' inlaid in gold. On the first page written in a grand calligraphy were the words, _'Sometimes words are enough…sometimes they need an accompaniment.'_

With a small smile Ginevra Molly Weasley left the Wizarding World behind and disappeared into the world of muggles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Rude Awakening**

Harry lazily rolled over, his arms flailing, reaching for Ginny. He sat up when he felt nothing but cool sheets.

"Ginny?" he called glancing at the clock. 7.23. Harry frowned, throwing the covers off and pulling on a pair of grey sweat pants. Ginny wasn't usually an early riser. She was a night owl. _Though we did have a relaxing night last night_. He thought, a silly grin covering his stubbled face. _She probably just fell asleep quickly like I did_.

He made his way to the kitchen, fully expecting to find Ginny with breakfast and his morning coffee waiting for him. His brow furrowed when all that greeted him was an envelope bearing his name and not the slightest hint of coffee wafting in the air.

"Ginny?" Harry called again this time with more force. When he heard no reply he muttered, "Where the hell are you?"

He snatched the letter up as he slouched down into the kitchen chair. His face paled as he read the slightly messy scrawl he knew so well.

"Oh dear god no!" he breathed knocking the chair over backwards as he rushed to the fireplace. Within in 10minutes nine Weasleys crowded his kitchen.

"They've taken her!" Harry exclaimed as Hermione alternated between comforting Harry and Ron, unable to decide who needed it more. "That's the only explanation!"

"Oh my poor baby!" Molly Weasley cried before burying her face in her husband's robes. His arms came up mechanically to comfort her, absently rubbing her back. His face deathly pale and etched with deep worry lines.

"Are you sure someone took her, Harry?" Bill asked quietly, Ginny's letter weighing heavily in his hands. "It just this letter doesn't make it sound like she was taken."

"WHAT?" Ron exploded, slamming his fist down on the table, the sound reverberating around the room. "Death Eaters took her Bill! _**DEATH EATERS!**_ Who bloody well cares what they made it sound like! They took her!"

"I'm just saying what's right here in the letter," Bill said calmly. "And there's no sign of a struggle either. I-"

"So they cleaned up after themselves! SO FUCKING WHAT?" Ron screamed, the vein in his forehead pulsating dangerously. His face, ears and neck were all stained purple with the strain. "They're just trying to buy themselves some time! To get her as far away as possible! You don't know her like I do! She would _never_ leave Harry!"

"Ron's right," Hermione spoke up, meeting Bill's eyes with a deathly glare. "Ginny would _never_ leave Harry."

Bill looked down at the letter once more. Re-reading the words for what seemed like the hundredth time. _I'm not so sure._

Ginny sat nervously in her seat on the Muggle aeroplane. Her bag stowed carefully above her. She took a few deep breaths, checking again that her seat belt was fastened properly.

"First time flying?" the man next to her asked in an American accent. She nodded, giving him a nervous smile.

"How could you tell?"

"That's the fifth time you've checked your seatbelt and we've only just hit the runway!" he laughed. "Don't worry about it. Barring pigeons we'll be fine."

"Pigeons?" she repeated sceptically, eyebrows raised, her voice a few octaves higher than usual.

"Yep. You get one of those caught in the engine and nothings keeping this baby in the sky."

Ginny's eyes flew open, her face flicking from terror to mortification and back again, unable to decide which was more important. Upon seeing her face, the American continued guiltily.

"Guess that wasn't the best thing to tell the terrified first time flier, huh?"

Ginny shook her head emphatically.

"No," she croaked.

"We need to get as many Aurors as we can!" Molly said as she bustled around handing out steaming cups of tea. "I'll floo Tonks. She'll know exactly who to call. The sooner we get people looking the sooner my baby can come home."

"Mum, I think we should wait. Like I said, I don't think Death Eaters were responsible for this."

"William Arthur Weasley! You will stop all this 'Ginny left of her own free will' nonsense this instant! Do you understand me?"

"No, Mum, I won't 'stop this nonsense'!" Bill yelled, slamming his mug on the table, tea sloshed out running unnoticed down his hand. Everybody stared at Bill, shocked at his sudden outburst and blatant disregard of his mother's wishes. It was a well-known fact that in the Weasley family that you defied Molly at your own peril. Nobody was going to risk bringing her wrath down upon them for anything. Given her current anxious state, going against Molly was akin to poking a sleeping Hungarian Horntail with a hot poker.

"Have you even read this letter?" he continued, waving the parchment in his mother's face. "She left her ring, Mum. Her _ring_.Why would Death Eaters leave her ring? Why isn't there any sign of a struggle? If there was a struggle, don't you think Harry would have woken up? Ginny's a hell of a witch she would never go down without a fight! She left!"

An uneasy silence encompassed the room. Molly was shaking her head at Bill, at a loss as to what to say. Tears welled in her eyes. Every body's eyes went to Harry as he slowly stood and made his way to the bedroom. He emerged seconds later, a thin piece of black wood cradled as if it was precious commodity, in his hands.

"Her wand," he whispered. Bill stared at the wand. _Would she leave without it?_

"Still think she left me?" he asked coldly. "It was on her bedside table. Right where she left it last night. She didn't have it with her. She never had a chance. Molly, I think it's time we flooed Tonks. If that's alright with you of course, Bill?" Harry sneered.

"You know you can undo your seat belt now," the American man said to Ginny as he brought a ham and salad sandwich to his mouth. "We've been in the air for five hours now. It's perfectly safe."

"No thank you," Ginny replied stiffly, popping an almond into her mouth. "I'm quite comfortable with it on."

The man laughed. Ginny couldn't hold back a small smile at the sound. After he'd apologised and reassured her that no creature big or small could bring this plane down, they had got along smashingly.

His name was Alex Brixson. He was a 36year old Los Angeles native with chestnut brown hair, though a few stray greys were starting to make an appearance, and brown eyes. He had laugh lines around his eyes and mouth but instead of making him look old, made him seem warm and quite handsome.

Alex also had a 14-year-old son named Jet, who looked nothing like his father. He had bright blue eyes with a touch of green in them and dark blonde hair.

"He's with his mum right now in Seattle. So I took the opportunity to come over and see my brother. He moved to England about a year back. Got offered a position at the London branch of his firm - he's a lawyer – and jumped at the chance. Don't think I could live there personally though. Too cold. That why you're coming to LA? Escape the cold?"

"No," Ginny said. _It's not the cold I'm escaping._ "Just wanted a change of scenery. Spice up my life a little. I've always wondered what America's like so once I had enough money saved I hopped on a plane." It wasn't a total lie. She really had always wanted to come to America. She just never thought she'd be hiding from her family and everyone she'd ever known when she went.

They spent the remainder of the flight continuing to talk about themselves, their lives, the merits of the in flight movie and anything else that took their fancy. Ginny was tight lipped about her own life, preferring to listen to Alex. He was a very charismatic man. For the first time in longer than she could remember, Ginny was genuinely happy to be around someone. No, that was a lie. She could remember the exact moment she'd given up.

"_Revenge," he'd said coldly, sneering at her._

"_What?" she asked in disbelief. Berating herself as she heard her voice crack. He was still staring at her as if she were a piece of bubble gum stuck to his shoe and not a nice flavour either. One of those cheap and nasty bubble gums. The kind that had no taste and turned to rubber mere moments after popping them in your mouth._

"_You actually though I'd let you get away with doing that to me? That you could choose him and then come running to me because he was everything I told you he was?" he turned away from her as her first tears began to fall. _

_She cursed her own weakness, unable to stem the flow. She watched through bleary eyes as he calmly poured himself a fire whisky from an elegant crystal decanter. She wanted to yell at him to stop, to explain why he was saying these things to her but all she could do was stare, lost in the hurt and disbelief. _

_He said he loved me. Didn't he? Was it all just a lie?_

_He was facing and attacking her with his words again before she had time to gather herself. _

"_Did you really think that I'd still want __**you**__ after all this time? After everything you did with him? Did you think I'd still you when every woman in London is throwing herself at me?" _

_She couldn't hold back the loud sob that wracked her body and he laughed. He __**laughed**__, when every word that left his mouth made the vice clamping down on her heart tighten its grip. _

"_Although I have to say," he said moving towards her, running a hand down her bare arm and over the top of her thigh before coming to a stop at her hip. She cursed her body's reaction to his touch as he smiled down at her sardonically, his hand lightly trailed along the flesh beneath the top button of her jeans. "that you really were a good fuck." _

_She jerked back from him, slapping his arm away from her. She felt as though he had just slapped her. _

"_B__ut really," he continued, seeming oblivious to the pain he was inflicting upon her. "I can get a good fuck anywhere. Course if you want to go again for old time__'__s sake…"_

No! She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't think about him. That was the past. That way lead to pain and anguish and she had left that behind. She focussed instead on breathing normally as the plane came into land. She was immensely grateful that Alex kept his sniggering to himself as he watched her try and control her fear, outwardly at least.

"Nothing to worry about," he said, giving her arm a reassuring pat.

They parted ways as Alex made his way over to pick up his bags. He bowed elaborately, tipping his non-existent hat to her. Ginny laughed giving a curtsey in return.

"Enjoy Los Angeles!" he called as he disappeared into the crowd. Ginny continued on to the exit. She looked warily at the glass doors that opened of their own accord on her approach but went through the quickly, as a swarm of Muggles came up behind her. She revelled in the feeling that swept over her body as the Los Angeles sun beamed down on her.

She was free.


	3. Chapter 3

**A New Pearce**

Walking down the busy Los Angeles street, Ginny's eyes darted around in a mix of nervousness and awe. Giant billboards proclaimed products she'd never heard of. She stared at one with an image of a scantily clad woman, her mouth dropping open in shock. _They didn't have __**that**__ in Ottery St. Catchpole._

"Coca-cola," she read shrugging. _Must be an underwear brand_.

As she rounded a corner a blue flyer was thrust into her hands. She looked at the man in shock.

"Have you accepted Christ as your personal saviour yet?" he asked.

"You know I meant to and then I just got really busy!" she replied, picking up her pace and hurrying away from the main street.

An hour later Ginny was still wandering around but was beginning to think that leaving the congested street had not been the smartest thing she'd done this year. The sun was low in the sky, casting an odd half-light over the street. Slight panic began to rise in her chest. A door swung open in front of her, knocking her backwards. She looked up from the ground. A shocked and worried, middle aged woman meet her gaze.

"Fuck!" she swore loudly.

Ginny blinked stupidly. _Did she just say fuck?_

"Oh dear, are you alright?' she asked, hauling Ginny to her feet. "Don't sue!"

"Umm sure," Ginny said uncertainly as she was ushered though the door and into a high leather seat. A bottle of orange liquid unceremoniously coming into her possession. She looked down dumbly to the bottle in her hand. "Fanta," she read. _What the hell is Fanta?_

She glanced around the room ascertaining that she was in some kind of hair salon. The walls were covered with posters of different styles and colour satchels sat on display in one corner. There were four mirrors with a shelf below them on either side of the room. Each one with a chair similar to the one she was currently perched in front of it.

"So what's your name, love?" the woman asked as she busied herself neatening a cart laden with scissors, rollers and many things Ginny didn't recognise.

"Ginny," she said her eyes settling on a poster advertising a special on ear piercing. "Ginny Pierce."

"Ginny. Hmmm what that be short for then?"

"Ginevra."

"Oh," the woman gushed. "What a lovely name! For a second there I was afraid you were going to say Virginia!" Her nose crinkled as she spat out the name as if it hurt her to say it. "Disgusting name!"

Ginny smiled at her uncertainly not sure of how to reply.

"Here," the woman said placing a bowl of coloured balls on the shelf by her side. "Get theses into you. You looked a small shuffle away from being anorexic!"

Ginny eyed the bowl with caution. She had no idea what these little coloured things were and if she was not mistaken they all had a white 'm' on them. The woman was looking at her with narrowed eyes. Feeling much like she did when her mother fixed her with a glare, she reached over taking a few of the coloured balls.

"Don't know what's wrong with young girls these days! Too thin!" the woman muttered turning away from Ginny again.

It dawned on Ginny as she caught the woman's mutterings that these 'm's' were some kind of food. Still a little cautious, she slowly brought the 'm' to her mouth. As her teeth broke the shell the sweet taste of milk chocolate hit her tastebuds. "Chocolate!" her mind screamed with elation. She quickly reached over to the bowl taking a small handful, placing the bottle of Fanta on the shelf as she did so. The woman looked at her approvingly as she spied the small pile of 'm's' in Ginny's' hand. Ginny couldn't help but feel a small swell of pride when she caught the look.

"Excuse me," Ginny said feeling less self-conscious than she did when she first entered the brightly coloured salon. "But what's your name?"

"Christ!" the woman exclaimed, moving closer to Ginny. "What rock did my manners crawl under? My names Charlotte," she said, grabbing Ginny's chocolate free hand and shaking it vigorously. "Pleased to meet you."

Ginny smiled broadly, "Nice to meet you too."

"Now," Charlotte said, suddenly turning serious. "Just what are we going to do about that hair of yours?

"My hair?" Ginny asked a wave of self-consciousness flowing over her.

"Yes, love," Charlotte said matter-of-factly. "Doesn't suit you at all. Too thick, too long, no shape to speak of," she shook her head, looking over Ginny critically. "It's only saving grace is the colour."

"Oh," Ginny said inadequately. She looked at her reflection, watching Charlotte scrutinise her appearance. Ginny couldn't help but agree with Charlotte. She'd never really enjoyed wrestling with her long mop everyday but couldn't remember why she had bothered after she moved out of home. Her mother thought her hair should remain long and it wasn't worth saying no to her while she was forced to live under the same roof. So why had she kept it long? It never did what she wanted. She wasted a good forty-five minutes every morning trying charm after charm, in an attempt to tame her fiery locks. She'd cursed it (not literally of course... well just the once), more times than she could count. So why did she- _Harry_. It suddenly hit her. Harry had liked her hair long. He never wanted her to cut it.

"Short," Ginny said a little more forcefully than she had intended. "I want it short," she said more calmly, releasing the grip she had unconsciously applied to the chairs arm.

Charlotte smiled broadly; apparently oblivious to the tone Ginny had just taken. "Wonderful! I was hoping you'd say that."

Having her hair cut by a muggle was an …interesting experience for Ginny. Her hair was washed, attacked by scissors and dried with some black contraption that blew hot air at her, attacked with scissors again and then pressed straight by some hot metal plates encased in plastic. Ginny was stunned when she saw the finished product in the mirror. She let out an excited squeal at the sight. Charlotte smiled happily, "Knew you'd like it!"

"I do! I love it!" Ginny squealed, running her hand carefully along her shortened locks. No longer sitting thickly at her waist, the amber strands now came to just below her shoulders. Short pieces framed her thin face. She pushed a stray strand carefully away from her eyes, her fingers slowly travelling along its length.

"Now all you need to do is put a little meat on that scrawny body of yours and you won't be able to make any female friends!" Ginny looked at her, face a mask of confusion.

Talking with Charlotte was something Ginny had never experienced. She had taken to calling Ginny 'Baby', after learning her age. "Twenty-one! Oh you're still such a baby!" and had a vocabulary that Ginny was sure would make even her brothers blush. Ginny didn't know why, but she trusted this woman, that she had just met, more than any of the people she had left behind. As a result Ginny found herself telling her life story to Charlotte, making it muggle friendly of course.

Charlotte looked at her with sad eyes as she spoke of her life with Harry, exclaiming in a way that Ginny was sure would have her mother on the floor in a dead faint, when she spoke of Harry's antics and _his_.

Ginny was forced to choke down her mouthful of Fanta - which she was now downing without reservation or restraint- when Charlotte said he was a 'mother fucking bastard!' among other things. Charlotte had such a kind and maternal feeling to her, her bursts of profanities never failed to shock Ginny.

Charlotte told Ginny the highlights of her life as well. She was forty-nine years old and had been married for twenty-nine of them. She and her husband, Wyatt, owned the salon and a restaurant, Esmond's. It had been Wyatt's fathers and they had taken over when his father died.

They had been foster parents for the last twenty years and had one child of their own. A boy named Jaydon. He was twenty-six years old and studying to be a doctor.

The building they lived in had three stories. The bottom had been converted to house the salon. Ginny had been given the grand tour of the upper levels when Charlotte had decided they needed more of the coloured balls.

The first level had a lounge room that reminded Ginny of the Burrow with its cluttered neatness and large, soft looking sofa. Berating herself, Ginny hastily banished all thoughts of England to the back of her mind, instead focusing on the numerous framed photographs of children that lined the walls. She had seen muggle pictures many times before but she still couldn't help watching out of the corner of her eye, waiting for them to move. Charlotte pointed out each child in turn, giving a brief summary of their time with her and Wyatt. One of the boys looked familiar but Ginny couldn't place where she knew him from. She shrugged off the feeling, her attention drawn away from the photographs and back to Charlotte as she continued the tour.

There was a small but well equip kitchen, a bathroom, master bedroom and a study with a funny box that Ginny thought might be a computer, with a board with letters, numbers and symbols in front of it. Upstairs was another bathroom and four bedrooms, each had at least one bed in it. Only two looked like they were being used at the moment. Each room looked like it had endured many a personality imposed upon it.

"We only have three with us at the moment," Charlotte explained. "Two boys and a girl. The boys are brothers, just lost their parents, the poor dears. Didn't want to be separated so they share a room and Jillian, well her mother's a crack whore so she's better off here." Ginny stopped momentarily at Charlotte's bluntness before hurriedly following her as they made their way back down to the lounge.

"Where are they now?" Ginny asked as she plopped herself down on the sofa beside Charlotte.

"Jillian's on a school camp for the week and the boys went with Wyatt to the restaurant," Charlotte craned her neck, eying the clock in the kitchen. "They should be back in about half an hour. Wyatt leaves it to one of the manager to close up most nights." Ginny glanced at the clock letting out a small cry and bounded off the sofa as she read its face. 8.40.

"Oh my gods!"

"Calm down, Baby!" Charlotte admonished, forcing Ginny back onto the sofa. "We'll call a taxi. You'll get to your hotel in a jiffy."

"But I don't _have_ a hotel yet," Ginny said miserably. "I only got in today and I didn't think to book one before I left!"

"Well that was stupid of you, wasn't it?" Ginny nodded at Charlotte whose mouth was set in a thin line, reiterating the scolding tone in her voice. "Not to worry," Charlotte said dropping her hands from her hips and taking on a cheery tone. "You'll stay here." Ginny looked up at her shocked. She started to protest but Charlotte cut her off sternly.

"Nonsense. You'll stay here. We have plenty of room. Save your money."

"I can't-" Ginny began but stopped abruptly at the expression that had suddenly overtaken Charlottes face. It amazed Ginny how much Charlotte looked like her mother in that moment. Defeated, Ginny nodded, thanking her profusely. Charlotte waved her off.

"No need for that, Baby. It's nothing. The ancient Greeks used to do it all the time. Give a stranger food, clothes, anything they wanted before asking why they were there or even who they were! Hospitality was considered of the utmost importance," Ginny nodded dumbly as Charlotte moved briskly to the small kitchen. "And I know exactly why you're here so I don't see why I can't take half a page out off the ancient Greeks book," she stirred a pot over the stove as she spoke. "You like marshmallows in your hot chocolate, Baby?"

Ginny sat nursing her hot chocolate enthralled by the swirl of the melted marsh mellow that sat atop the richly flavoured liquid.

"It's the cinnamon and nutmeg," Charlotte was telling her knowingly, "that gives it the flavour. I-" a loud clattering followed by pained yells and a deep yell of "Boys!" punctuated Charlotte's speech.

"Ah," Charlotte said brightly. "The boys are home!" Two boys, who looked to be around twelve, stumbled through the door.

"Mama!" one of the boys yelled, his hand covering his face. "Tyler broke my nose!"

"I did not!" the other yelled back, stomping his foot. "He tripped himself up the stairs!"

"DID NOT!"

"DID TOO!"

"Boys!" growled Charlotte silencing the two boys. "We have a guest," she said, teeth clenched, waving her arm in Ginny's direction.

"Sorry, Mama," the boys chorused. Ginny thought she heard a muttered 'did not' as a tall, grey haired man walked calmly into the room.

"Hello, love," he said happily giving his wife a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to Ginny. "Wyatt," he said extending his hand to her. "Pleased to meet you."

"Ginny will be staying with us until she gets on her feet," Charlotte said in a tone that clearly said no objections would be heeded, before Ginny had a chance to answer. "Poor dear has just got here from England today. Didn't think to organise accommodation, the silly girl!" Ginny blushed.

"Ah," Wyatt said knowingly.

"It's just till she gets on her feet," Charlotte said forcefully, handing each boy a mug of steaming hot chocolate. The broken nose apparently forgotten by both parties. "I'm going to make up Ginny's bed."

When she disappeared upstairs, Wyatt turned back to Ginny.

"I hope you realise you can never leave here," he said with a laugh. "She wants to keep you now! That's what my Lotti does you see, isn't boys?" Both boys nodded emphatically.

"That's what she did to Alex," one of the boys, who Ginny recognised as Tyler, supplied while the other continued to nod his head in agreement. "He was only supposed to be here for three months and hasn't escaped Mama yet!"

"Wyatt says that's what happened to us too and we didn't even notice!" the other said seriously.

"Oh," Ginny said awkwardly, feeling that she was supposed to acknowledge that gem of knowledge somehow.

"Don't look so worried," Wyatt said softly. "Lotti's just very maternal. She loves every kid who comes through here like they were her own, no matter how long they stay."

Ginny sat alone in her room an hour later, emptying her bag upon the bed. A leather bound book and deep red, drawstring bag with an elaborately embroidered 'G', fell upon the floral bedspread. She placed the book on the bedside table next to the glass of water Charlotte had insisted she have.

"Just in case you get thirsty during the night," she'd said firmly.

Ginny dropped the leather bag to the cream carpeted floor, pouring out the deep red bag contents. Bundles of Muggle money fell to the bed along with two boxes. She picked up the smaller of the two. It was extremely thin and a little bigger than the palm of her hand.

"Engorgio," she muttered. The box swelled in her hand doubling in size. A 10inch phoenix feather wand, crafted from fine redwood, was nestled within the box. With a smile Ginny flicked her wrist, sending the second box to the middle of the small room. "Engorgio," she muttered again. The small box grew to a large suitcase. Ginny knelt on the floor, fiddling with the uncooperative zip. Throwing back the heavy material, Ginny inspected is contents. The clothes she had would be considered out of fashion now in England, she could only imagine how they would be looked upon here. She made a mental note to ask Charlotte where a mall was before picking out an outfit for tomorrow and a pair of pyjamas.

She had packed the suitcase during the war, just in case they had to run. It sat in its shrunken form in the top draw of her bedside table for years. Ginny had moved her spare wand and suitcase to her Gringotts Vault shortly after the war's end.

They had all done it. Being close to Harry, the Order was afraid Voldemort would try to use his friends and family to draw him out. Every one Harry cared about and every Order member prepared a suitcase. They had, in that one suitcase, the means to disappear into the Muggle world for an undetermined period of time. In the suitcase were Muggle clothes, a small stockpile of Muggle money but most importantly a folder containing a comprehensive set of fake Muggle identification. There was everything from a birth certificate to school reports. A simple charm transferred the appropriate details onto the blank pages and cards. The spare wand had been of her own violation, buying it a few months after Voldemort's defeat. Nobody knew she had this wand. Wands could be tracked given the right paperwork and circumstances. Only people in the Department of Mysteries could track wands.

Ginny sat in her flannel pyjamas covered in little yellow ducks, contemplating what her new identify should be. She had her name already, Ginevra Pierce. There was no way she could change that. She had already told Charlotte. She crinkled her nose, wishing she had thought of a more alluring surname.

"Ginevra Pierce," she muttered under her breath. "Ginny Pierce. Pierce. Pierce. Pie-"

As she repeated her poorly chosen surname, a thought struck her. So she couldn't change her name, that didn't mean she couldn't change the spelling. She tapped the Muggle birth certificate with the tip of her wand with a muttered charm.

_Ginevra Molly Pearce_

She smiled as the words flowed onto the parchment- no, paper- she corrected herself. Muggles have paper. That was better. Not a lot better, but better none the less.

She decided to keep her detail as close to the truth as possible. It would be easier to remember that way. Numerous taps of her wand later Ginny Weasley no longer existed. With a small smile playing on her lips Ginevra Molly Pearce, snuggled beneath the covers, falling into a peaceful slumber.

Ginny was awoken the next morning to the sound of yells and clattering coming from downstairs. Ginny burrowed her head under the pillow. It was too early. The noise didn't cease as Ginny silently cursed beneath her pillow but got louder as a voice joined the din, yelling over the introduction of music. Ginny groaned, pulling herself out of bed. She scowled at the blue, cloud free sky she could see through her window. How could four people make so much noise?

Casting a scourgify charm on herself, Ginny quickly dressed for the day. It was times like these she wished she enjoyed the taste of coffee. She felt like she had only slept a few minutes. The smudges under her eyes were much darker than she would have liked. Ginny contemplated her appearance in the thin full-length mirror she had discovered hanging on the empty closet door. It would do. She wore a pair of dark blue jeans with a jewelled detail across the back pockets, paired with a black tank top. She wore the same sneakers she had arrived in.

Ginny re-shrank her suitcase, returning it to her black shoulder bag before carefully making the bed and going downstairs. Ginny glanced at the clock as she joined Charlotte in the kitchen. 7.00am. No wonder she was tired.

"Good morning, Baby," Charlotte said cheerily, pouring orange juice into glasses. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, thankyou," Ginny replied. "I have some money for you for letting me stay and for the haircut."

"Don't worry about it," she said, dismissing Ginny with a wave of her hand. "Letting you stay here was of no cost to me and I overcharge my customers anyway! I won't accept your money!"

"But-"

"Do you have a job?" Charlotte asked, her hands flying to her hips.

"Well, no-"

"Exactly! You're in a foreign country all by yourself. Just got out of a horrendous relationship, which you stayed in for far too long!" Ginny cringed "You don't have the money to spare. So you will stay here until you do! Like I said it's no trouble."

Ginny sighed. Did she want to stay? True she liked and trusted Charlotte but she left to escape the controlling and coddling ways of those around her. Charlotte was looking at her strangely, her expression abruptly changing, softening. Her hands dropped to her sides. She took a step close to Ginny, speaking softly.

"Just till you get on your feet, Baby. Somewhere to stay till you find a place of your own. Then you can invite us over for dinner to say thank you. Everybody needs a friend." Ginny smiled gratefully, nodding. Charlotte looked at her for a moment before enveloping Ginny in a comfort fuelled hug.

"Now," Charlotte said, pulling away. "Toast, muffins or-"

"I'm back!" a male voice yelled from the open doorway, his arms spread open. "Who wants the first hug?"

"Alex!" Charlotte cried, moving speedily towards him, embracing him tightly.

"Mama," he said gently. "In case you've forgotten, we humans need this little thing called oxygen."

"Oh, stop it!" Charlotte scolded, swatting heartedly at his arm. "I haven't seen you in god knows how long-"

"I was away for two weeks. You saw me off at the airport."

Charlotte continued as if she hadn't heard him. "And now you won't even let me give you a proper hug?"

Alex rolled his eyes, embracing the older woman again. "Better?" Charlotte nodded happily, pecking him on the cheek.

"Have you eaten? I made breakfast." Alex cast a worried look to the two boys seated at the kitchen table.

"She made cereal," Tyler said, indicating to his bowl. "You're good."

"Well in that case, bring it on, Mama!" Charlotte scowled at Tyler and Alex in turn. Tyler suddenly needed every ounce of concentration to bring the spoon to his mouth. Alex simply nodded gravely under her gaze.

"I'm sorry, Mama," he said solemnly. "But you're going to have to face the fact that you're cooking is only good for food poisoning epidemics."

Charlotte huffed back to the kitchen as Wyatt began talking to Alex and the two boys stifled a snort. Charlotte was mumbling under her breath. Ginny's eyes widened as she caught her words. Ginny didn't pay too much attention to Charlotte though; she was focused solely on Alex. She couldn't believe it. It was him.

Alex turned towards the kitchen as Charlotte gave a particularly loud 'fuck'. His eyes widened, flickering with recognition.

"Ginny?" he asked, sounding astounded.

"Hi, Alex," she said meekly, giving him a small wave.

"How the hell do you two know each other?" Charlotte asked, looking from Ginny to Alex imploringly.

"We sat next to each other on the aeroplane," Ginny explained, not breaking Alex's gaze.

"Really?" Charlotte questioned, her eyes narrowing on Alex. Her hands flying to her hips once more.

"Small world, huh?" Alex offered with a nervous laugh, running his hand through his hair.

"Do you mean to tell me," Charlotte began menacingly. "That you got back _last night_ and didn't bother to come and see us or even call!" Her voice had taken on a shrill edge as she spoke. Alex squeezed his eyes shut and cringed at the sound.

"Well you see," he began, fumbling for an excuse. "I was tired," A humph from Charlotte told everyone that that excuse was not acceptable. "I wanted to call Jet and make sure he was safe and to let him know I was back?" he suggested.

"You couldn't have done that from here?"

"Apparently not."

"You are coming for dinner tonight!" Charlotte told him, turning to the sink.

"Yes, Mama,"

"And you're giving Ginny a job."

"What?" Ginny exclaimed, shocked. "That's not necessary. _Really_ not necessary."

"Of course it is," Charlotte said matter-of-factly. "And it's no trouble for Alex. In fact, you taking the job saves him time and money." Ginny opened her mouth to protest but Alex beat her to it.

"Tell you what, Ginny," he began, taking a swig from a glass of juice settled on the counter, ignoring Charlotte's vicious swipe at his hand. "Why don't you come down to The Bronze before the lunch time rush today and we can see if you want the job? That way everybody's happy."

Ginny hesitantly nodded her consent. _Fanbloodytastic__,_ she thought. _I've traded one set of control freaks for another__,_ but she did need a job. She had enough money from WWW now but it wasn't going to last forever. She wanted to do this on her own. She didn't want to need help. Ginny sighed as she sat down at the scratched table, listening to Alex telling everyone about England. It struck her as she picked at her banana muffin, that the difference between these control freaks and those who were her blood kin, was that they were giving her a choice not just telling her she started Monday as her father had with her secretarial job. If she didn't want this job she didn't have to take it. It seemed so simple. It was so simple, yet that knowledge lifted a great weight from Ginny's shoulders. Smiling happily, Ginny focused on Alex and his escapades though English pubs.

Ginny emerged from her taxi after a small debacle with her Muggle money onto the street. She looked down at the scrap of paper held tightly in her hand. Carefully checking the address once more, she looked up at the top of double glass doors where currently dull neon lights scrawled the words, 'The Bronze' in large letters. The Bronze, Ginny had learnt from Charlotte, was a coffee lounge/bar. From nine till five The Bronze was essentially a café but come nine o'clock it transformed into a bar complete with live music and a dance floor. Alex had originally only intended the café part of the concept to be a temporary thing to raise revenue while promoting The Bronze as a night club but he picked up enough regular customers for the café that it made more sense to him to keep running both.

Taking a breath, Ginny pushed open the doors and descended down the cement stairs. The tiny exterior masked a spacious sub level. Ginny wound her way through the brightly lit room, around the many plush couches and silver tables that dotted the room. There was a stage at one end of The Bronze with lights hanging from the roof in front of it. Smaller lights decorated the very front of the stage. There were no curtains; she could see back stage as she crossed in front on the stage. Masses of wires, stuck to the floor with thick black tape, snaked their way around. Soft music played in the background. It was loud enough that people sitting alone could hear it clearly yet soft enough that others didn't have to strain to hear their conversations. Ginny wandered over to the bar. Fairy lights decorated the oil stained wood of the shelves displaying bottles of liquor.

She pulled herself up onto one of the high bar stools her feet barley touching the metal footrest. She fidgeted nervously, her eyes scanning the partially filled room, waiting for Alex.

"Hello, Ginny," he said cheerily, moving behind the bar at which she was seated. "Ready for your interview?"

"Interview?" Ginny squeaked, her eyes widening. Alex laughed at her expression.

"Don't look so scared!" he admonished. "I know you haven't had any time to prepare for any kind of interview, so I figured you could tell me where you've worked before and you can prove that you're you later but it's not like I'm going to give you a job just because Mama says so." Ginny smiled half- heartedly in reply to Alex's bright smile. He turned away from her, grabbing a coffee cup and placing it on the machine's grill. "Would you like a coffee? On the house," he asked.

Ginny shook her head, "No, thank you. I don't drink coffee."

"Well, I need a coffee," he replied fiddling with a removable part trying to force it to lock in. Ginny scowled at the coffee machine. It was the same one she and Harry had had. He had brought in one day after a trip to Muggle London with Hermione and a disgruntled Ron. Harry hadn't bothered to learn to use the bloody thing. She was just expected to always do it for him. She smiled at the thought of him fumbling with it as Alex was now. "Fucking piece of stainless steel shit," he grumbled. "Why the hell did I allow myself be conned into buying you?"

Ginny slid of stool, moving behind the bar. "See this groove here?" she said taking the handle from a now flustered Alex and running her slim finger along the metallic indent. "You have to have the handle directly in line with it so it can- there!" she said triumphantly as it clicked into place. Alex sighed dramatically as caffeine filled water filled his mug.

"Congratulations, Ginny!" he said jubilantly. "You are officially gainfully employed at The Bronze."

Ginny trudged up the stairs after three hours of introductory training. There were more coffee flavours than Ginny had ever imagined. The Wizarding World had so few compared to Muggles.

Alex didn't think it necessary for her to stay for the bar opening and for that she was immensely grateful. Ginny now fully understood why people moaned about jetlag, as she fell exhausted into bed, not bothering to change into her pyjamas. Leaving during the day, while Harry was at work, would have been a much better idea than the middle of the night.

**A/N:** The line, "Have you accepted Christ as your personal saviour yet? ... You know I meant to but then I just got really busy." is from Buffy season 4, episode 1, The Freshman. Buffy is asked by a flyer giving outer girl at college. I have a slight Buffy obsession. Occasionally I pilfer.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks to all those who added this story to favourites/alert list and special thanks to those who took the time to review. It is much appreciated.

**Notes From Afar**

Draco groaned as a beam of sunlight cut through his bedroom, harshly lighting his face. Experimentally, he raised his head. Throbbing pain meet the languid movement. Draco let his head drop to his pillow before turning over, intent on sleeping through the worst of his hangover. He'd have Tilly owl his office.

A beautiful, though slightly tousled, woman met his gaze. His eyes widened. _Right, don't remember doing that._ He noted the marks on her neck, following them down to her partially exposed chest. Carefully, he lifted the sheet off her sleeping form. He took his time looking over her body. _Bloody hell! I wish I could remember doing that!_

"Like what you see?" a soft, voice cooed from beside him.

He pulled his gaze away from her breasts, dropping the sheet back over her. He gave a non-committal grunt before burying his head in his silken pillows.

"Oh, someone's not a morning person," she said, amusement colouring her slightly nasal voice. Draco cringed as the sound ricocheted around his head. "But if you turn over I'm sure I could lift your spirits."

"That won't be necessary," Draco replied coldly. _Why do I always bring them back to my place? _He thought angrily. _They're always bloody here when I wake up! _The woman, Draco racked his brain but could find no memory of the harpy, ran her fingernails down his back.

"Are you sure?" she purred.

"Quite," Draco replied shortly, removing the woman's hands from his body.

"What's wrong?" she pouted, trying to once again entice him by tracing her finger down his back in small circles. "Last night you couldn't get enough of me. You _screamed_ my name," she purred in his ear.

Draco was certain that he had not in fact screamed her name. That would require knowing her name.

"Come on, baby," she whined. "What's changed since last night?"

"The alcohol content of my blood," he replied, roughly pulling the sheet around his shoulders effectively stopping her clawing hands.

He was going to kill Greg. This was all his bloody fault. Greg had forced him to attend the stupid feast in honour of the Boy-Who-Lived. Whoopde-fucking-doo. He was alive too, you know. He had survived his crackpot of a father, hadn't he? That deserved some semblance of credit. But noooo. Potter survives one little curse and he gets all the recognition.

Greg had forced him to attend the feast, under the guise of adequately representing the Malfoy Corporation, the ponce, and he had to watch that bloody git touch and kiss her all bloody night. She didn't see him. He doubted she saw anything in the Great Hall. She smiled and chatted and allowed Scarhead to pull her to him but she wasn't there. Stevie frigging Wonder could see she wasn't there but they couldn't. None of them ever could.

"That's not very nice," the woman said, sounding hurt. She was spared his scathing retort as a large tawny owl came swooping through his open bedroom door, hooting loudly. A distressed looking House Elf followed the owl yelling, "Owl must not wake Master Draco! Master Draco has hangover and must not be disturbed!"

Draco growled at the loud intrusion, pulling himself up to glare at the House Elf that was still yelling and chasing the hooting owl. Swooping past Draco, the owl dropped the Daily Prophet onto his bed and promptly flew back out the door. The House Elf sighed.

"Would, Master Draco, like Tilly to escort his tart out?" she asked.

Tilly was a strange House Elf as far as House Elves went. Dobby had definitely had a negative influence on her. She had no problem insulting Draco. When his mother had tried to release her from the Malfoy family's service for that particular trait, Tilly had blatantly refused to take the dress robe from her. Draco quite liked the rebellious little Elf, truth be told. He had threatened Tilly with clothes more times than he could count, but the cunning elf simply replied that once released from his service she would no longer be required to keep _any_ of his secrets. Despite her unusual nature, Tilly really was a fabulous House Elf. She never failed to deliver on a single request and was the best cook Draco had ever had in his service. Draco smirked as Tilly ushered the half dressed and protesting woman out of his bedchamber. He really did enjoy having Tilly around.

A few minutes later Tilly reappeared with a loud _crack_, a food and vial laden tray in her hands. He downed each potion in a single gulp, glancing at the label as he replaced each on the tray. Headache relief potion, re-hydration potion, STD prevention potion, liver cleansing potion, nausea relief potion and Madam Rosmerta's Fresh Breath Potion. Tilly was nothing if not thorough.

Draco pushed the now empty vials to side of the tray focusing on the stack on pancakes sharing the tray. Draco brought a golden syrup drenched pancake to his mouth, chewing gently, savouring the flavour. Best pancakes he had - _STD prevention potion? _He didn't keep any of that in the Manor.

"Tilly?" he said, holding the empty vial between his thumb and forefinger shaking it lightly. Tilly looked up from across the room where she was attempting to extricate Draco's pants from the bookshelf.

"Master Draco doesn't know where his tart has been!" Tilly admonished, her long fingers wrapping around her tiny waist. "Master Draco should be grateful Tilly forced a contraceptive potion down tart's throat!'

"I believe I have better taste in women than to pick up a diseased one," Draco said snidely, returning his attention to the stack of pancakes on his plate.

"Oh really?" Tilly questioned. "Then Master Draco can tell Tilly what his tart's name was?" Draco glared at the small House Elf who was smirking at him unaffectedly. It was really quite an odd look. It made him extremely glad that Tilly was the only House Elf in England that smirked. "Master Draco must finish his breakfast quickly. He has a meeting in one hour." With a loud crack she was gone.

Unfolding the paper, he made a mental note to yell at someone from the postal service. That was the third time that bloody owl had invaded his bedroom. Draco was particularly incensed by the invasion that resulted in an entire bottle of his favourite shampoo meeting his scalp.

Draco emitted a fierce growl as he read the morning's headline, suddenly losing his appetite. The four of then were on the bloody front page _again_. They were all smiling as the Weasley patriarch gave his 'endearing, uplifting yet solemn and heart-wrenching' speech. They stood encasing her, trapping her and she smiled along with them, a desolate look, invisible to the untrained eye, staining her chocolate orbs. "**One-Year Anniversary Marks New Beginning: Potter Baby on the Way!",** the paper proclaimed. Whipping the sheets back, he stalked to his en-suite, flinging the offensive paper at the wall.

Draco stood in the shower, his head turned towards the nozzle with the slightly too hot spray stinging his skin. He couldn't stand it. What was so god damn special about Ginny Weasley? So she was good looking but she wasn't spellbinding. She had a brain but she was never top of any class. She had the voice of an angel sure, but no one ever heard it. Nobody bothered to listen. Her voice was his. Just his. Draco slammed the palm of his hand onto the cool white tiles with a growl. He was rich, powerful, and owned and ran his own company. Well, at least he almost ran it. Right now he listened to a board of directors and signed on many dotted lines, but he was learning. He didn't need to be plagued by thoughts of some silly bint that he had some fling with, and who was soon to be impregnated with Potter's slimy spawn.

He twisted the faucet tightly, stemming the flow of water. The metal cut into his hand. He grabbed a plush towel, whipping it off the rack and tied it roughly around his waist. Draco scanned his bedroom carefully before dropping the towel and began to get dressed in the clothes Tilly had left out for him. It had become habit for him to ensure Tilly was nowhere in sight while he changed since the unfortunate day that he dropped his towel only to hear a high pitched squeak. He had looked up to see Tilly burrowing her head beneath his pillows. He didn't know who was more horrified, Tilly or himself, but he would pay any amount necessary to not know that he didn't measure up to Noddy, one of the kitchen elves in Goyle Manor.

Slipping his wand into his robes, Draco stormed down the hall to his study, picked up his brief case, and apparated to his office.

While working through his lunch, Draco decided that today was simply not a good day. It was rotten to the core, and his eleven o'clock definitely smelt it. His day was only set to get worse. His two o'clock was wizard by the name of Archabald Ferdinanne, who made Professor Snape's hair look freshly washed, and somehow always found a way to stroke Draco's bum, no matter what Draco did to avoid it. But he was rich, stinking rich in fact and a valuable client for the firm. Draco had just made it onto the last page of the Ferdinanne contract when his assistant's high pitched voice announced the arrival of Archie. He asked Draco to call him this at each of their meetings, while quite unabashedly letting his gaze travel down Draco's crotch. Draco sighed, scanning the remainder of the contract, and stood as his assistant led Archie into the room.

"Mr. Ferdinanne," Draco greeted. "Wonderful to see you again."

"Now, now Draco," he scolded. "How many times must I tell you to call me Archie?' Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes as _Archie's_ gaze left his face.

Draco reclined in his plush leather chair, a fire-whisky held securely between his pale fingers. His day was finally over. Until nine AM, the next morning he didn't have to look at any form of the written word. He sighed as he took a sip of the amber liquid, welcoming the burning sensation as it slid smoothly down his throat. Glancing at his watch, he switched on his radio, the clear, deep, and scathing voice of Rocca Didack filling his office. The man was rude, crude, spiteful, sarcastic but also hilarious, both on and off air. Although, the greatest appeal for Draco was the fact he had had a vendetta against Harry Potter since Scarhead refused to appear on his show. His subsequent on-air rant had resulted in Draco becoming his number one sponsor. How the man had been sorted in to Hufflepuff was a mystery to Draco. The Sorting Hat must have been having a spectacularly bad day to get something that wrong.

Draco crossed his legs at the ankle resting them on top of his desk, readying himself for an hour of mindless hilarity.

"-it, then change the fucking station! Nobody is forcing you to listen to me!" Rocca Didack's aggravated voice said, abruptly cutting off the apparently aggrieved caller. "Stupid bastard. OH! And talking 'bout stupid bastards, apparently, the famed hero of the Wizarding world, slept through his beloved's abduction! SLEPT! He didn't hear a fucking thing. Not that that's really all that surprising. I don't think I've ever heard the woman speak! Potter always answers for her. 'Cording to Weasley – the minister one, Jesus Christ no wonder Voldemort lost. There's a fucking army in the Weasley family alone- it's believed that some renegade Death Eaters have broken into their flat and taken the woman for leverage over Potter! Personally, I reckon the bint got bloody sick of the ponce's nattering and just up and left him…"

Draco didn't hear the rest of the Didack's broadcast. He felt sick, his feet coming to rest gracelessly on the floor. He stalked over to his fireplace, throwing a fist full of floo powder onto the dormant coals. Emerald flames sprang boisterously into life, spitting a small amount of soot and excess floo powder back onto Draco, staining his pristine white shirt.

"GREG!" he yelled into the flames. "Get your ass here right the bloody hell now!

"What?" Greg Goyle asked aggravated. "Ah, Draco, you've got a little something on your-" he stopped abruptly, noticing Draco's wild expression.

"Gin," Draco growled. "Any witch or wizard with any association with Death Eaters whatsoever, I want checked. Find her. Now!" Greg stared at Draco dumbly. Draco shut off the floo call before Greg had a chance to answer.

His assistant wisely kept quiet as Draco exited his office, violently pushing open the double doors, the handles slamming into the wall behind them, leaving a hole in the plaster.

Draco didn't sleep. He sat in his office, hunting through his father's diaries, searching for clues as to who might have taken Ginny. He barely took any notice of the flustered and scolding Tilly as she chased a swooping owl. Her face covered the front page of the Daily Prophet, with her family pleading for her return. He scowled at the paper, flinging it back at Tilly. The House Elf didn't attempt to order him around or comment on his crumpled appearance as she normally would. She just handed him a steaming mug of coffee to enable him to keep working.

He flooed Greg at his office as the day came to a close. Greg ran his own detective agency. He had become an Auror after the war but had been fired for his sometimes less than legal means of gathering information. Draco was one of his only clients. Many still had reservations about trusting a suspected Death Eater to uncover their secrets but Greg had connections everywhere. Draco didn't know how he did it as he spoke so little in public. He played the dumb minion to a tee.

Greg's tired and apologetic looking face appeared in the flames. Draco took one look at him and let out a barrage of expletives.

"I still have more suspects to look into. I've barely even scratched the surface. I need more information than what's in the press release."

"So find it," Draco growled, fighting the temptation to reach into the flames and wrap his long fingers around the man's throat. "Isn't that what you do?" Draco knew he shouldn't take his frustrations out on his friend but he couldn't help it. This was Ginny they were talking about.

"I have a meeting set up for tomorrow morning with Percival Weasley," Greg replied, ignoring Draco's tone. How Greg had managed to gain a meeting with a Weasley was a mystery to Draco. The man had a stick shoved so far up his arse that Draco was surprised he couldn't see it when the man spoke. Of course, Percy only spoke to Draco while trying to discredit him or find illegal going-ons in Malfoy Corporation. Percy Weasley refused to speak with anyone remotely connected to the Dark Lord in any manner. The fact that he had agreed to see Greg of all people was astounding.

"Why?" Draco snapped. "The man isn't smart enough to be able to give you any clues as to who took Ginny."

"But he will know details that I cannot otherwise get a hold of. My source at the ministry apparently cannot give me any information on this case. Everyone there is very tight lipped and a full Auror report hasn't even been filed yet. Percival will be able to give me details that were left out of the press release. Was there any evidence of forced entry, magical residue, evidence of a struggle, blood." Draco blanched at the mention of blood. He was going to kill Potter for letting this happen. Ginny was tiny and would have no chance if men had physically taken her from her home. Potter should have protected her. This never would have happen if Draco had… Draco's thought ended abruptly, unwilling to go down the tangent of why he wasn't there.

"Draco," Greg said softly, bringing Draco's attention back to him. "I'm starting to wonder if she really was taken by Death Eaters at all. Ever-"

"What?" Draco interrupted sharply, uncaring that he had cut Greg off. Greg sighed, rubbing his forehead, the first indication he had given that the past days events had taken a toll on him. Greg never broke, never showed what he was truly feeling, and rivalled Draco in that respect. This indication that he was frustrated made Draco dread the next words out of Greg's mouth.

"When I spoke to Percival to set up a meeting, he was…jittery."

"His sister's just been abducted," Draco said in a near screech. "What the fuck did you expect? He'd offer you tea and talk about Quidditch?"

"The man barely knows what a quaffle is. So that scenario seems highly unlikely." Greg continued speaking, ignoring Draco's colourful outburst to his statement. "Draco," he snapped. "Percival was too insistent that Death Eaters were to blame for his sister's disappearance. It was like he was convincing himself, and it didn't sit right with me." Greg sighed, rubbing his forehead once more. "Why don't you get some sleep. I'll let you know if anything comes to light." Draco leaned back in his chair as Greg's face disappeared from the fireplace, the flames returning to their usual crimson shade and emanating heat once more. Greg had to find her.

Ginny walked to a table in the centre of the Bronze for the second time in less than ten minutes, feverishly hoping she had the order right this time. The woman gave her a disdainful glance as Ginny set the replacement coffee onto the table, apologising for the mistake. The woman simply waved her off, complaining loudly to her companion about inept service. Ginny smiled pleasantly, apologised once more and headed back to the bar, all the while reminding herself that hexing was not an option. Alex took one look at her expression and burst out laughing, earning himself a deathly glare from Ginny. Unfortunately, in only made him laugh harder.

"What's so funny?" she asked, moving behind the bar.

"Your face, Gin, ah, it's priceless." Ginny scowled at him again.

Alex simply continued to laugh at her, tears leaking from his eyes. Ginny glanced at him, resisting the urge to smile.

"Don't worry about it, Gin," he said breathlessly. "She comes here almost every day and I have only twice seen her completely satisfied with her order. And both times Jaydon served her. Why-" A loud banging interrupted Alex. Looking up, Ginny saw a woman who looked to be in her mid twenties, an embarrassed smile on her face. She held a now crying baby in one arm and the handle of a stroller in the other.

"Stairs," she said meekly, hurrying to a booth. Ginny heard the woman she had just served talking cattily about the woman to her friend.

"Gin," Alex said, using tongs to withdraw a large chocolate chip cookie from a glass jar, placing the cookie on a bright red plate. "Why don't you go take Angie's order and give her this." He indicated to the cookie. "On the house." Ginny nodded, taking the proffered plate. Ginny walked over to Angie, who had managed to settle her baby and was currently reading the paper. Alex giving Angie a free cookie or coffee wasn't an unusual occurrence.

Ginny had been working at The Bronze for nearly two weeks and every week day at 12.30 Angie would arrive, comment on the stairs, stay for an hour, and leave. Alex knew a bit about every one of his regular customers, and had been telling all of them to Ginny. Some had her falling on the floor laughing, like poor Mr. Goodwin and his terrible luck, while others, like Angie's, were heartbreaking. Angie's husband Mike, had been killed in a mugging when she was six months pregnant, leaving the English native alone in America.

Ginny's eyes widened as she came up behind Angie, the paper she was reading coming into view. She had a cut out from another paper hidden between the grey pages. It was a story on the Cannons' newest recruit, the black and white photo showing a young man grinning happily as he performed loops on his broom. Ginny gasped, causing Angie to whip her head around, hastily moving the paper out of Ginny's line of sight. Her sudden movements caused the free page to slip from between paper, floating to the floor. Angie grabbed for the wayward page but it eluded her grasp. She scrambled from her seat, reaching for the page but Ginny was too quick for her, leaning down and scooping it up. Ginny stared at the page, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Angie looked from Ginny to the page in her hand and back again, understanding dawning on her. Ginny was still staring at the article, **'Ginny Weasley Still Missing'**. Ginny scanned the article quickly. For an article apparently about her, it focused an astounding amount on Harry, and how her 'kidnapping' had affected his sleeping patterns.

"You're Ginny Weasley, aren't you?" Angie said. It wasn't really a question. She already knew the answer. Ginny's American transformation had really been limited to her hair at this stage. Ginny shook her head meeting the woman's sceptical gaze.

"No," she croaked, shoving the paper back in to Angie's hands. "It's just a remarkable resemblance." The look in Angie's eyes as she spoke was one that Ginny had learnt to recognise and loathe. Pity.

"You're Ginny Weasley, aren't you," Angie repeated softly. Resigned, Ginny nodded. "You weren't kidnapped, I take it." Ginny shook her head. "Maybe you should owl your family. They're obviously worried." Ginny scoffed, a spark of the infamous Weasley temper igniting.

"Of course they're worried. It affects Harry now. Besides I left a letter. There is no reason for them to be talking to the papers."

Angie looked at the too thin girl. This wasn't the Ginny Weasley she remembered from her days at Hogwarts. She remembered a bubbly, though quiet, little girl completely enamoured with the Boy-Who-Lived, following him and the other two-thirds of the trio around Hogwarts. She remembered a red-faced girl defending herself against Draco Malfoy, the snot nosed, little boy who had entered the school thinking he owned it, as he teased her over some valentine. The woman in front of her couldn't be more than 22 years old, the half dead look in her eyes was unnerving in a person of her age. She had the look of someone who had seen too much, who knew too much about the seedy under belly of the world.

Ginny turned away from Angie, panic rising in her chest. They were going to know where she was now. They were going to come and get her and she wasn't going to be able to say no to them. She had to leave. Leave Los Angeles, leave America. France. She'd go to France. She liked croissants.

"Ginny," Angie called softly to her retreating form. She saw Ginny's shoulders stiffen as she turned to Angie a look of fear in her eyes. Her reaction confirming Angie's hesitant decision. "I won't tell anyone where you are. I won't owl the ministry." Ginny looked at her, wide eyed, and then gave her a stiff nod.

"Thank you," Ginny said quietly. Angie gave her a small smile. Ginny walked back to the bar in a daze, latent panic still affecting her breathing. She barley registered Alex as he spoke to her.

"What did Angie order?" he asked.

"Croissant."

Ginny arrived back at Charlotte and Wyatt's after her shift at The Bronze, a pleasant nervous and excited feeling resting upon her. She and Charlotte had found the best flat for her. Maybe 'best' was a bit of an overstatement. It was nice though. Or at least it could be with small cosmetic adjustments.

It was a small one bedroom flat with a joint lounge/dining area and a small kitchen. Thankfully, it had its own bathroom and shower unlike a few of the flats they had look at and declined. The walls were a sickly yellow colour for the most part, except for the bathroom, which was painted watermelon pink with bright green tiles. Ginny still needed to buy furniture as the flat only came with a bed frame and a questionable looking mattress. Charlotte had lent her some spare sheets, pillows and quilt for the time being, refusing to accept any form of payment for Ginny's stay with her.

"Hello, Baby," Charlotte called warmly from the kitchen. "How was your day? I hope Alex isn't working you to hard."

"No, he's not," Ginny said with a small smile. "My day was fine." A sudden image of Angie and the Daily Prophet article flashed across her minds eyes, causing her to unconsciously crease her brow. "Pretty routine."

Charlotte noted the uneasy look that momentarily passed over Ginny's face, but let it slide. She had seen that look a fair bit over the past two weeks and found she found she didn't gain anything but an uncomfortable silence if she pressed Ginny on it.

"What are you cooking?" Ginny asked warily.

"Honestly!" Charlotte exclaimed, shaking her head. "You haven't even fucking tasted my cooking yet and you're already using that tone with me! It's not right! Didn't your flashy English boarding school teach you any manners?"

Ginny smiled broadly at her.

"Nope."

Charlotte glared at her.

"Cheeky little bitch," she muttered, the knife in her hand striking the chopping board loudly. "But if you must know I'm not cooking, I'm dicing."

"Only thing Wyatt will trust you with, is it?" Ginny giggled. Charlotte sighed dramatically; pushing the diced chicken onto a plate, covered it with cling wrap and stored it in the fridge, all the while muttering about silly, redheaded cows. Ginny simply grinned.

"Now you," Charlotte said straightening up. "Let's see about getting you to that apartment of yours." Ginny's grin widened.

Later that night she sat alone on top of the covers on _her_ bed, glancing around her bedroom, thinking about the letter she had just sent. She had spoken to Angie again briefly as the woman payed for her unordered croissant, and had given her the address of a reliable wizard post office in the area. She fiddled nervously with the charm bracelet around her wrist, wondering if they were reading her short letter yet, while simultaneously knowing it had not yet arrived.

For the first time in nearly a year, Ginny took the time to study her bracelet. It really was a beautiful bracelet. Her family had given her it for her 16th birthday and each of her brothers had purchased a charm, while her parents provided the slightly thick silver chain. She ran her fingers over each charm in turn with her fingers gliding over the small spans of links in between. A replica of his fang earring from Bill, a dragon from Charlie, a cauldron from Percy, Percy had not been pleased when he had found Fred and George's adjustment to his charm. Apparently, it had originally been a quill and he had been quite put out when Ginny refused to let him exchange it. Fred and George had each given her the WWW symbol in gold and rose gold, respectively. Both had refused to talk to the other for the rest of the evening claiming each had stolen the others idea, and from Ron, a broomstick. Her smile faded as her fingers stopped on the seventh charm, a snitch. Harry had given it to her to mark some anniversary in their relationship. She couldn't rightly remember which. Ginny scowled at the small gold ball, roughly withdrawing her wand from her black bag, hanging from the bed board. With a small un-sticking spell, the charm came away from the rest of her treasured bracelet, into her hand.

Getting up from her bed she made the short trek from her bedroom to the kitchen, forcing the rather large window open. With one final glance at the charm, Ginny flung it out the window, watching with a smile as it disappeared into the dark night.

Feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, Ginny made her way back to her small bedroom and crawled under the covers.

Ginny studied her newly refined bracelet, her fingers lingering momentarily on the final charm. She briefly debated whether the finely crafted and expensive charm should receive the same fate as the miniature golden snitch. _Yes_, she decided, nodding vehemently. She reached for her wand again to undo the sticking charm. She closed her eyes as she muttered the spell, the small, silver serpent with diamond eyes falling to the bedspread. _No,_ she muttered, magically reattaching the charm. She wasn't ready to get rid of that just yet.

Harry sat in the kitchen of the Burrow watching as Molly bustled around making breakfast for him and the Weasley brothers. The only one absent was Charlie, who had been forced to go back to Romania under the threat of unemployment. Molly had insisted he go back, assuring him she would floo the second they had any news. Bill sat quietly off to the side, neither included nor excluded by the others. He almost felt sorry for the bloke.

A loud thump interrupted the light breakfast conversation. The boys and Molly looked up to see smudges on the glass of the kitchen window.

"Oh!" Molly exclaimed. "That would be Pig. I sent him to check our post box." A moment later Pig reappeared at the now open window, flapping his wings and hooting excitedly as Molly attempted to retrieve the letters clutched in his claws. Harry sighed at the sight. Ginny was the only one who could calm the god-forsaken owl.

Molly gave a small yell of triumph as Pig released the letters into the thankfully empty sink. She flicked through the small bundle quickly. "Bill, bill, catalogue, bill, oh a letter." Molly read the letter quickly, her face paling.

"Mum?" Bill asked concerned, "What is it?" Molly looked up from the letter, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of what to say.

"Ginny," she croaked, holding the letter out to him, her arm shaking. The letter was short, abrupt even. The parchment was jagged down one said as if it had been torn from a book. The script was neat as though great care had been taken when deciding what to write. The rest of the boys crowded behind Bill, reading over his shoulder.

_Dear Mum, Dad, Bill etc., etc. _

_I saw an article on my 'kidnapping' and wanted to assure you that I'm safe and to tell you to stop looking for me. I'll come back when and if I'm ready to. Please, just let me have this._

_Ginny _

"Are we the first etcetera or the second etcetera?" Fred asked his other half.

"I'm not rightly sure, old boy," George replied in an upper class English accent. "But at least we know now-"

"-Who her favourite brother is," Fred finished for him.

"I must say, I'm highly disappointed in the girl's taste."

"Ay, I thought we had her when she wasn't made a prefect," Fred agreed morosely.

A slap up side the back of their heads from Molly silenced her troublesome twins

"You're making jokes at a time like this. Your sister is clearly being forced to write this… this dribble!" Fred and George shared a look and then glanced at a grimacing Bill.

Half an hour later Bill, Percy, Fred and George, sat in Percy's room discussing Ginny. Harry and Ron had blatantly refused to believe that Ginny had left of her own will, preferring the notion that Death Eaters had taken her. They had flooed to Hermione's as soon as Molly had been adequately calmed down.

"Well, we know she's in England," Percy reasoned calmly.

"How?" Fred and George asked in unison.

"She saw the articles in the Daily Prophet."

"Besides," Bill added. "She couldn't have much saved. Her only income is her secretarial job and that hardly pays enough to get her very far."

"Actually," George said guiltily. "That's not actually-"

"One hundred percent,"

"True."

"What? Why?" Percy asked sounding put out by the twin's admission.

"Well," Fred began. "She might-"

"Maybe,"

"Just a little bit,"

"Own ten percent of Weasley Wizard Wheezes," the twins admitted in unison.

"Since when?" Bill exclaimed.

"Since the beginning really," George said with a blissful sigh.

"Yeah," Fred said imitating his brother. "She blackmailed us."

"For all the years-"

"Of forced human trials,"

"She was also in possession of information quite sensitive in its nature,"

"Would have been disastrous if someone found out."

"What did she know?" Percy asked curiously.

"Can't tell you that, brother dearest," Fred said, his voice playfully clipped.

"Yeah," George continued. "Can't afford to give any more of our business away!"

"Well I never!" Percy huffed. "The two of you ar-"

"How much does she have?" Bill cut in before the conversation developed into one of the twins favourite games, aggravate the Percy.

"We've made a lot," George said happily, rubbing his hands together.

"Especially since the war,"

"How much is a lot?" Bill asked, concern evident in his voice. The twins suddenly looked nervous. Bill sighed, it had apparently just dawned on them what a well moneyed Ginny meant.

"Ummm, a lot," Fred answered.

"A lot a lot,"

"A real lot,"

"Huge lot really,"

"And ten percent of a lot a lot-"

"Is quite a bit."

Bill closed his eyes in exasperation. "You have no idea how much you've made, do you?"

"Not a clue," Fred and George answered simultaneously, giant identical grins covering their freckled faces.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Bill grumbled as he searched through Gringotts' dusty underground filing chamber. "I'm going to lose my job, my license, and die a horrible dusty death in this bloody cavern!"

Guided by the light at the end of his wand, Bill finally reached the section labelled 'W'. He searched along the row, stopping at the cabinet labelled 'We-Wh'. He gasped sharply - causing him to choke as dust filled his lungs - at the amount of galleons she had withdrawn from her vault the night of her disappearance. The twins were right. She had quite a bit.

Draco Malfoy sat at his desk unable to focus on the contract he was supposed to be approving. If his employers had noticed a decline in his work rate, they hadn't said anything to him. Most of them just scuttled off in the opposite direction when he came near them, or focused more intently than was strictly required on their work.

Two weeks. For two weeks he'd slept badly, if at all. Draco had suspicions that Tilly was lacing his food with a sleeping drought to ensure he slept. And it was completely that bloody run-away bints fault!

Greg had managed to get a copy of the note Ginny had left for Scarhead. It was in ink that matched the pot in her study, written in what appeared to be her "unforced" handwriting. Greg hadn't been able to find any Death Eater, or anyone else for that matter, who had any idea where Ginny Weasley might be. It was like she had vanished into thin air, which in itself was not all that unusual for a witch or wizard. The only exception being that she had left absolutely no magical or physical trace. She was just gone. She hadn't taken anything with her, as far as Potter could tell. Draco scoffed. Like that excuse for a man could see anything to do with Ginny if it didn't have a flashing, neon sign above it. Come to think if it a neon sign wouldn't do much good. He didn't notice Ginny, and she had a bloody beacon for hair.

Draco sighed forcefully turning his attention back to the contract. He read half a page before giving up completely. He couldn't comprehend a bloody word. _Firewhisky_ he thought. _Need Firewhisky_. He had just raised an over-filled glass to his lips when his fireplace crackled into life, Greg's face appearing in the flames.

"They've received another letter from her," Greg said hurriedly, disappearing as fast as he had appeared.

Bill arrived home to his London flat exhausted. He had only meant to stay to inform his brothers on just how much a lot was, and that if the records kept by the Goblins were correct, which of course they were, then there was no way that Ginny had been forced to leave. The insurance spells she had taken out with her vault ensured that the galleons could only be taken by Ginny, of her own freewill.

As he made his way to the back porch in order to apparate home, he ran into his mother who insisted he stay for dinner. Three hours and a third helping later, he was finally permitted to leave.

With a muttered word, his small flat was illuminated, revealing Draco Malfoy sitting comfortably at his kitchen table. Bill raised his wand in defence.

"What the hell are you doing in my house, Malfoy?" he yelled.

"You know, Weasley," Draco said taking a sip of Firewhisky from the simple glass before him. "You really need to upgrade your liquor cabinet. This," he sneered at the amber liquid. "was your finest drop. Though I suppose that's all one can expect from someone of your," he took his time looking over Bill, his eyes lingering on his long hair, tied in at the nape of his neck and the silver fang adorning his earlobe. "stature." he finished with a sneer.

"What. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing. Here. Malfoy?" Bill bit out, resisting the overwhelming urge to simply hex the bastard. His back teeth were grinding together and her felt a growl building in the back of his throat begging to be released.

"I wish to make you a proposition."

"You want to pay me to find my sister?" Bill asked in disbelief.

"Yes, I believe I made that clear the first time I explained it to you."

_Jesus fucking Christ!_ Bill thought. _The man only had two modes. Cold and freezing._ Bill couldn't believe how calm Malfoy was as he explained his proposition to Bill, pausing only to take a sip from his whisky.

"Why?" Bill asked, at a loss as to what else to say to the young Malfoy heir.

"Ginevra didn't grate on my nerves as much as the rest of you ingrates did." Bill ground his teeth together, his fists clenching beneath the table. "I have no wish for any harm to come to her, so I offer you the means to locate your wayward sister."

"Shouldn't you just ask some of your buddies where they've taken her?" Bill spat, his anger boiling to the surface.

"You and I both know that Ginevra was not 'kidnapped', as Potter would so readily have the simpering idiots of this country believe. One does not empty a Gringotts vault holding a fairly generous sum, when kidnapped. Do not think to play me for a fool, Weasley." Draco spoke softly and calmly, but the intensity of his glare made Bill shift uncomfortably in his chair and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "I presume that even a Weasley would know to procure insurance against forced withdrawals. Even for the meagre sums you - people - are used to," he sneered, raising his eyebrows at Bill, searching for confirmation. Bill nodded. _How the hell did he know about Ginny's second vault?_

"The wards she had in place were quite thorough. Only Ginny could access it." Draco nodded in acknowledgement.

"Do you know of any way to track someone who has seemed simply to have vanished?" Draco asked. "Preferably, one that doesn't involve manually scouring every square inch of the country, of course," he added.

Bill let his head hang in thought. He could feel Malfoy's never-faltering gaze on him.

Draco began to silently panic. What if Weasley didn't know a way to find her? Scouring the country inch by inch really was his next plan of attack. He stared at the eldest Weasley of this generation, willing him to know. Weasley's head didn't move as he raised his eyes to meet Draco's glare. His mouth was set in a hard line, his voice expressionless as he spoke. Draco was unnerved by the sight but his icy demeanour didn't falter.

"I know of one,"


	5. Chapter 5

**Blood Magicks**

Bill sat sullenly on the couch; the pillows Fleur had insisted that they could not live without lay haphazardly at his feet. It had been two months since Malfoy had come to see him. Two months of setbacks and disappointments. Every lead turned sour as he delved deeper. Every location he scouted held no promise. To make matters worse, Malfoy had begun to become impatient, threatening to cut off funding if he didn't come up with results.

Malfoy's interest in his sister's whereabouts was somewhat of a mystery to Bill. He supposed they had spent a fair amount of time together during the war. It was only natural that one form attachment to those around them. He had seemed to care for Ginny's well being after the Final Battle. Perhaps their friendship ran deeper than either cared to admit. But they had not seen each other since the end of the battle, as far as he knew. They had no contact whatsoever. Although Bill was beginning to believe that no one knew what had been running through Ginny's head this last year, except that it appeared to be the opposite of what they all just assume.

Bill sighed. He knew this was going to happen when he first suggested it to Malfoy. Had told him of the difficulties surrounding their plan. The time consuming nature of it. The stark probability that it would have no answers for them. Malfoy had yet to question the financial requests Bill made of him, simply transferring the fast accumulating amount of galleons into the specified account.

A sharp tapping at the window distracted Bill from his musings. A bedraggled owl, drenched by the fierce rain plummeting to the ground outside, fluttered in, weakly depositing is delivery into Bill's hands before turning, almost hesitantly and flying back out into the vile night. Bill turned the letter over, excitement sparking as he noted the sender's address. He broke the wax seal of the waterproof charmed envelope quickly, anxious to view its contents. He gave a small cry of exultation as he read the parchment before him. He'd found it.

Bill flooed Malfoy immediately, informing him on the preparations that had to be made before next month's full moon. Malfoy simply nodded, a House Elf acting as his scribe. He thought he saw the House Elf throw the quill at Malfoy's head as he rudely dismissed her and then Bill dismissed the thought as quickly as the floo call was cut off.

Bill heard the locks on his front door sliding out of place and hurriedly stuffed the parchment into his pocket and resumed his slumped position on the couch. An irritated looking Fleur stormed through the doorway, her wet blonde hair stuck to the side of her face.

"Hello Fleur," Bill said pleasantly. "What did the doctor say?" Fleur scowled in reply.

Bill raised his eyebrows at her, a small smile playing on his lips. "I take it I was right then?"

"Vous êtes une bouton singes arsenaux!" Fleur snapped, glaring hatefully at him. Bill chuckled.

"I still don't see why you had to go all the way to France to see a doctor. We have them right here in England you know."

"HA!" she scoffed, throwing her bag towards Bill. "Zey are dizguizting! I vill not let thoze ignorant abeille gardienne 'ho are mazquerading as doctorz near me!" Fleur exclaimed disappearing from his sight with a slam of their bedroom door. Bill couldn't help the grin that covered his face as he leaned back into the couch, giving Fleur a few minutes to herself before he dared to breach the threshold of their bedroom.

Bill sat uncomfortably outside the office of Draco Malfoy, a large dragon hide bag at his feet, staring down the large mahogany doors. He nodded politely to Malfoy's secretary as she prattled on incessantly. Bill breathed a sigh of relief as the doors swung open to reveal Draco Malfoy showing a portly man from his office. Malfoy nodded to Bill as his secretary scurried back behind her desk. Bill raised his lanky frame from the leather chair, silently making the short trek to Malfoy's office. With a glare to his secretary, Malfoy followed, shutting the doors silently behind him.

Malfoy didn't bother to offer Bill a seat as he walked behind his desk, withdrawing a palm sized gold disc from a drawer.

"I assume you have in your possession all that you require," Draco said, his eyes flickering over the large bag draped over Bill's shoulder.

"Of course."

In reply Malfoy held out the golden disc to Bill. A muttered word and a lurching sensation later, Bill and Malfoy stood just outside Stonehenge.

"Care to explain to me, Weasley, why I'm ruining 1000galleon shoes?" Draco sneered, glaring at the flecks of mud splattered across his shoes and bottom of his trousers. Bill smiled enigmatically, withdrawing his wand from his jacket pocket. With a loud "Ostendo sum," he brought down the wards surrounding Stonehenge. Draco fought the urge to allow his mouth to drop open at the newly revealed sight before him.

In the centre of the stones, stood a simple square shaped stone construction. From Draco's vantage point he could see the inside of the building, large stone steps led down into the darkness. _That's new._ Bill walked forward crossing the threshold of the small building.

"Coming, Malfoy?" Draco hurried forward, a customary sneer taking control of his features. His shoes clacked loudly as they descended, the light quickly fading around them. Draco ran into Bill's back as the Weasley stopped abruptly.

"What the fu-" Draco began, taking a stumbling step back.

Red sparks sprayed from the tip of Bill's wand towards the wall. Fire roared away from them across the wall, illuminating drawings and carvings etched into the stone. Draco recoiled from the sudden heat.

"Oil shelf," Bill murmured, looking down the thin passage way at the seemingly unending set of stone steps. Bill could see symbols engraved in the middle of each step. Some he recognised, some escaped his broad range of reference.

A thin sheen of sweat began covered the two men's foreheads as they continued to follow the steps, the heat of the corridor increasing as flames came rocketing up the opposite wall. Finally the stairs levelled out leading Bill and Draco to a cavernous room. A ceremonial alter stood in the middle atop an ancient symbol carved into the floor. The oil shelf continued around the circular room to rejoin at the entrance.

"What is this place?" Draco asked with barely concealed awe, his eyes flitting around this simply decorated room. Finger paintings from different ages and cultures covered the stony walls.

"Not sure," Bill said distractedly, emptying his dragon hide bag, item by item, and laying them atop the alter.

Draco stared at Bill incredulously, "You're not sure?"

"There's no accurate account of this place, no evidence," he said, placing a stone mortar and pestle in the middle of the alter. "There are stories throughout history of a temple with unsurpassed magical power trapped within its walls." Bill stopped emptying his bag, turning on his heel to face Draco. "Only the oldest of magicks can be practised and intensified inside these walls. Potion magicks, incantations, blood magicks."

"Dark magic you mean?" Bill laughed at Draco's question, the sound reverberating eerily around the room.

"No, Malfoy. Not dark magic. Blood magicks and alike are not dark magic, no matter how much propaganda the ministry insists on putting out," he paused, raising his head slightly to look Draco directly in the eye. "Dark magic is the dark intent behind the spell. The urge to hurt, to control, to kill. All magic can be labelled as dark when in the wrong hands but _no_ 'dark' magic can be practised within these walls," Bill paused, taking his time to take in the images adorning the walls.

"Voldemort searched for years, combed the globe for an entrance. Pointless really. This is the most highly warded place in existence. Even if he were able to locate an entrance he couldn't cross the threshold. No one harbouring any ill intent towards your purpose can cross the threshold." Bill returned his gaze to Draco, looking him dead in the eyes leaving Draco with the desire to shift his weight from one foot to the other and look away.

"So if you wanted to find Ginny to harm her in anyway, you would have been thrown away from here. Probably right into that mud you were so worried about."

"You were testing me?" Draco asked indignantly.

"Of course," Bill answered, unperturbed by Draco's tone. "A Death Eater, traitor or not, wants to find my baby sister, for reasons he doesn't feel the need to disclose and will pay any amount necessary to do so. What kind of man would I be if I didn't questions your motives?"

"Doesn't that go against the good little Gryffindor mantra?" Draco sneered. Bill shrugged indifferently.

"We're not in school anymore, Malfoy. We can no longer be defined by the qualities valued by our house." Draco glared at the older man, at a loss as to how to respond.

"Do you mean to tell me that the Dark Lord never thought to look at Stonehenge when looking for your little voodoo temple?" Draco scoffed, returning the conversation back to where he felt comfortable.

Bill sighed. "There are many entrances to this place all over the world. Many entrances to this one cavern. That's why there are so many different symbols and drawing on the walls. More cultures than you could imagine can access this temple's power." Bill pulled a large intricately designed blade from his bag and stood. "It's a bit like the threshold. Those with evil intent cannot find the temple. Only those who wish to do good are allowed access. Though good intent does not always guarantee what is right will occur. That fact had led to many an atrocity being perpetrated within the temple."

Draco's eyes were trained on the blade. The silver glinting in the firelight. Draco took the opportunity to gulp silently while Weasley's back was turned to him.

"So what happens now?" he asked with no trace of the nervousness he felt.

"I blend a couple of ingredients, say a rhyme and slash open my arm." Draco blinked. He hated Weasleys.

"And then?" Draco prompted with a lethal glare trained at Weasley's back.

"Well, if all goes according to plan I should be able to find Ginny and go to wherever she is."

"And if everything doesn't go to plan?"

"Die a horribly painful death."

"Good then. I'll hope for the latter."

Bill cast Draco an annoyed look as he began to crush numerous herbs in the mortar and pestle, till they were crushed into a fine dust. "You might want to stand back, Malfoy. I have no idea what is going to happen." Draco hurriedly moved backwards, stopping only when he felt heat uncomfortably at his back.

"Hear me now, those that came before, hear my prayer," Bill began, tipping a vial of sickly green potion into the crushed herbs. "Find me that that which I seek," The stone mortar shattered the herbs stained sickly green swirling in the air around Bill.

"Find me my missing kin and bring me forth to her. My life's blood I give in payment." Taking the blade, Bill slashed his left arm deeply, his blood spraying out and flowing thickly down his arm, never to touch the floor. His blood joined the swirling mist. Breathing heavily Bill continued to chant, his voice suddenly deeper and changing from English to fluent latin. Draco stared unsure whether this was supposed to happen.

"Per igneus of meus cruor ego queso thee ut res pro mihi statua of thy semen. Accerso mihi pro suus quod accerso mihi tergum ex unde ego venit super eruditio scientia quod ego peto,"

Bill took a bundle of herbs and holding in his bloodied arm set the end on fire. The small flame quickly burnt through the herbs, sparking the swirling mist around him. The fire that burned around the room rushed towards Bill, adding its ferocity to the spell. Until suddenly it dropped, the ashes of incinerated herbs floating to the ground. A wall of raw magically energy shot up, encasing Bill on all sides, sending a shock wave out and causing Draco to fall painfully backwards.

Images flashed through the wall in quick succession. As the blood flowed freely from Bill's arm, filling the groove of the symbol beneath his feet, the images began to slow. It seemed almost as though he could reach out and grasp them. He saw Fred and George somehow managing to burn their eyebrows off while doing paperwork. Ron staring regretfully down onto a photograph in his hands, Hermione curled up at his side. An image of Charlie with a baby dragon cradled to his chest. He saw Ginny walking down the street, her hair shortened and falling in loose curls around her face. Before the image could be replaced by another, Bill reached for Ginny, his hand passing straight through the image. With one final gush of blood from his veins, Bill fell forward, his vision blurring and landed with a thud on the cold ground.

Gingerly, Bill pulled himself to his feet, running his hand over his forearm where the deep gash from the dagger should have been. A white scar, as if healed by years, ran along his arm.

Bill looked around, his eyes falling on nothing more than an overflowing garbage can and ladders and platforms jutting out from the side of a building. Looking forward he could see a swarm of people passing a large gap in front of him.

"Good show, Bill," he muttered go himself. "You found an alley way. None of your friends have an alley as nice as this."

Bill exited the alley merging with the people on the street. He looked around uneasily trying to figure out where he was. And there she was. Across the street. She was laughing and smiling with the man beside her. She looked so healthy compared to when he had last seen her. She disappeared into a building as Bill stood transfixed. She was so close and yet so far from him now that he wasn't sure he should speak to her now. She seemed so happy. She wasn't in mortal peril as segments of his family were insisting, despite the Weasley family clock saying otherwise. It had settled comfortably on lost for the past three months. _She wasn't lost though,_ Bill thought. Lost to them maybe but she wasn't lost. She knew exactly where she was going. He supposed she might return someday, when she was ready she would come back. Even as he thought it his mind rebelled against the statement. She may return to England someday, as her short correspondence stated, but never to them. She had shed any obligation she had to them. They had pushed her away. He knew that now. It was their actions, or inaction, that had pushed her away. They didn't pay attention. They couldn't see what was plainly stated. Didn't want to see it. She had always assured him that she was fine, happy even, when he pulled her aside. He had taken the faux assurance that she was fine, accepted the fake smiles and he had done nothing. He was as guilty as they were. He had to talk to her he decided. Even if it was only to say goodbye.

Bill descended down the stairs of The Bronze, his stomach churning. The sub level was practically empty and only half lit, chairs still sat stacked atop tables. He scanned the room with fervour searching for his little sister. His eyes fell on a tall brown haired man who was making his way over to him, a bright smile on his face.

"Hello," he greeted Bill. "We're not actually open as yet but you're free to sit down somewhere and someone will be with you as soon as possible," he said, gesturing around the room.

"Oh thank you –Alex," Bill said, reading the man's name tag. "But I'm actually looking for someone. Ginny. Ginny Weasley. Do you know where I can find her?"

Alex felt his stomach drop as the man spoke. Ginny. The man had scars across his face, mangling one eye. His long red hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck, a fang hanging from his ear and he wanted Ginny. "There's no one here by that name, sorry." Alex replied, his face regretful.

"Oh, well, maybe you've seen her. She's about 5'4, slight, red hair, brown eyes."

"Sorry," Alex replied. "Haven't seen anyone like that."

"I saw her come down those stairs," Bill said, growing frustrated, pointing aggressively behind him. "Not five minutes ago."

"You must have been mistaken," Alex said, his face hardening. "There is no red headed, brown eyed Ginny Weasley here. Okay?"

Bill took a deep breath. He knew Ginny was here. He's seen her. "I think it would be best if you left now." Alex said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Bill sighed in defeat. He obviously wasn't going to get anymore out of the Muggle man. Besides she had to come outside at some stage. It was better that he wait till she was alone anyway. When he was free to talk to her without the fear of somebody overhearing. He could ask the questions he needed the answers to then.

He turned making his way up the stairs. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard it. A light feminine voice informing someone that there was no need to order any macadamia cookies this week as there was plenty still left in the storeroom. Bill turned quickly, almost falling down the stairs in the process. He burst through the doors, his eyes finding Ginny immediately.

She was talking with Alex, her face growing more and more concerned as Alex spoke. "There was a man here just then," he was saying. Looking for you-"

"Bill," she said shocked, her eyes fearful as they met his.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **

Thanks to all those who reviewed! It's great to read what you all think of this story. Keep 'em coming!

Also, I've just realised that ff has ever so kindly been undoing some of my formatting so the chapters should get easier to read from now on.

**Two of a Kin**

"Bill," she said shocked, her eyes fearful as they met his.

"Didn't catch his name," Alex replied, oblivious. "But he had-"

"Ginny," Bill breathed as he took in the sight of her. She looked different. It was more than the haircut. Her whole demeanour was different, and something else. She seemed taller somehow. She stood a little straighter. Something had changed within her. He just couldn't put his finger on what exactly.

Bill moved forward quickly, rushing towards Ginny. Ginny's eyes widened as Bill neared and she took a few hurried steps back. Bill stopped with horror etched on his scarred face. She was afraid of him. His baby sister was afraid of him.

"Ginny?" he said, pained.

"What are you doing here, Bill?" Ginny asked, her voice cold and hard despite the small wobble in his name.

Bill stared at her, lost for words. "I-I-I came to find you. Make sure you were alright."

"Fucking peachy," Ginny answered, folding her arms over her chest. Bill was slightly taken back, not so much by her language, God knows he'd heard her let out a tirade of words their mother would kill them for, in fact, he'd taught her to say some of those words, but it was her cold, harsh tone. He'd never heard her talk to anyone like that before, let alone him. "Now that you've checked on me feel free to leave."

"Gin-"

"You heard her," Alex said placing a hand firmly on his chest. "It's time you left."

"I want to talk to my sister," Bill ground out, roughly pushing Alex's arm away from him.

"Well she doesn't want to talk to you so fuck off before I call the cops!" Bill looked over to Ginny. Her small face fearful, unshed tears painting a sheen over her eyes.

"I'm going," Bill said softly, defeated. He paused at the door, his hand poised over the handle. "Gin," he called over his shoulder. He didn't turn his head. Couldn't stand to see her look upon him in fear. "I like your hair."

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

Ginny watched her brother's retreating figure, his red head disappearing as he climbed the stairs to the street above. Bill had always been her favourite brother. He had always been the one to take her side. Always been the one she turned to. He was the only one she would talk to about The Chamber. He always seemed to know when something was wrong and how to fix it. Always the one to check on her, to protect her. And he had been the one to look for her, to find her.

She briefly registered Alex running his hand over her arm in a comforting gesture, asking her if she wanted to go home for the day. Maybe go see Mama. She had discovered that was his solution for just about everything. Go to Mama. Mama was his Bill. The one to make all your problems disappear.

"Yeah, I think I might just go home," Ginny said absently to Alex. "See you at dinner." Ginny walked hurriedly to the steps, taking them two at a time. She burst out onto the street, scanning the slowly filling sidewalk for a shock of red.

"Bill!" she yelled as she spotted him across the street. He turned quickly, watching her as she crossed the busy street with ease. As she stopped in front of him, he noted that she bit her bottom lip, a nervous gesture she had had since childhood. "Hi," she said softly, looking at the ground.

"Hi," Bill replied in kind.

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

Forty minutes later, Bill sat on the edge of the slightly uncomfortable couch in Ginny's small flat, a half drunk tea in his hands. His knees grazed the edge of the coffee table. They sat awkwardly, neither knowing how to start the conversation. Bill couldn't stand it any longer, so he asked the first thing that popped into his head.

"So why does Malfoy want to find you so badly?"

Ginny blanched, spilling her untouched tea onto the carpet. "What?" she croaked.

"Draco Malfoy paid me to find you." Ginny simply stared at him, her eyes unbelieving. "If he hadn't approached me, I don't think I would have been able to find you. I definitely couldn't afford to."

"I don't know," Ginny answered, her mind whirling with unwanted memories. _Course if you want to go again for old times' sake._ Ginny shook her head. "I don't know."

Bill looked at her closely. Now wasn't the time to press the Malfoy issue. He would come back to that in due course.

"Why'd you leave, Gin?"

She laughed humourlessly at him, giving him a look that clearly stated she thought he was deeply stupid.

"Did you know that Harry and I never once even broached the subject of children?" she asked, giving him a wry smile. "So imagine my surprise when he announces to the press that were about to start our very own little family."

"No," Bill answered, his surprise colouring his voice. "I just assumed-"

"Yes. You assumed. Everybody _just assumed_," she interrupted bitterly.

"Gin, I-"

"Want a drink?" Ginny interrupted, not ready to hear his half-hearted explanation. She moved to the small kitchen, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge. "It's all I've got," she said as she plopped herself down beside Bill, glasses in one hand, bottle in the other. "Charlotte gave it to me as a house warming gift."

"Oh," Bill said taking the proffered glass and making a mental note to ask whom Charlotte was.

"Gin, I don't understand. If you were unhappy, why didn't you say something?" Ginny stared at the liquid in her glass, tears stinging her eyes.

"And then what Bill? Go home to the Burrow? Listen to mum attack me over leaving Harry? Or Ron? Listen for God knows how long on how I broke poor Harry's heart? Beg the twins for a job? Always be the girl who left Harry bloody Potter?"

"It wouldn't have been like that," Bill insisted.

"Yes it would," Ginny scoffed, downing the partially full glass of wine.

"Couldn't you have gone to Malfoy for help?" Bill ventured softly. Ginny stiffened at his words, her hands shaking.

"No," she said, her voice suddenly hard. "I couldn't."

"So he's willing to pay thousands of Galleons to find you, but he wouldn't be willing to help you?" Bill asked incredulously, frustrated by the secrets being withheld from him.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Bill," Ginny said sharply, slamming her glass down on the scratched coffee table with such force that a thick crack appeared in the smooth glass.

"So tell me, Ginny!" Bill said desperately, grasping her small hands in his large calloused ones. "Explain it to me because from where I'm sitting nothing makes any sense!"

"Just leave it, Bill," Ginny replied pleadingly, wrenching her hands from his grip, snatching up the cracked glass and storming to the kitchen. Bill jumped up to follow her, desperate for answers. Desperate to understand his little sister as he had when she was a child, always able to understand the reasons behind her actions.

"Fine!" Bill yelled, righteous anger colouring his voice. "You don't want to tell me why you just up and left without telling anyone b-"

"I left a note!" Ginny began, her anger mirroring her brothers. "It's not my fault-"

"But just tell me why bloody _Malfoy_ wants to find you so badly!" Bill yelled, raising his voice over Ginny's indignant interruptions.

"I don't know!" Ginny screeched, throwing the cracked glass at the wall, shattering it. Bill stared at her in shock. "I don't know! It doesn't make any sense, alright? He made it perfectly clear that-" Ginny stooped abruptly, a tide of tears threatening to crash. She turned her back to Bill, slumping against the kitchen counter.

'What, Gin?" Bill asked softly, gently turning her by the shoulder to face him. Her tear stained face looked up at him with a pained expression. Bill suddenly felt the intense need to do something particularly painful to Malfoy.

"That he didn't want me," Ginny said, her voice barely above a whisper.

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

Bill sat next to Ginny's curled up form in disbelief. "So you and Malfoy. You two were…I mean you and him…"

"Yes, Bill."

"While you and Harry…?"

"Yes."

"How long?" Bill asked perplexed.

Ginny shrugged. "Not long really. A bit in my seventh year. And last year."

"When were…when was the last time…when did you and he-"

"Just before the Final Battle," Ginny said with a small smile at her eldest brother's uncomfortable shifting. "When I stayed at Malfoy Manor."

"He broke it off with you… right before the Final Battle?" Bill asked slowly, his mind working furiously.

"_That's suicide!" Bill said in shock. "There's no way anyone can get that many in."_

"_Why do you think Malfoy's doing it?" Harry sneered._

"_You can't be serious?" Bill asked incredulously, looking around the room. "Malfoy's on thin ice as it is, if he's caught…" Bill trailed off, letting his sentence hang, the weight of his words pressing heavily down on the room. _

"_After what he did, it's the least he can do," Moody growled, his magical eye shifting unnervingly around the socket. _

"Yep," Ginny said scornfully, raising a freshly filled glass to her lips. "Should have known better than to trust a Malfoy."

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

Draco sat in the darkened and rapidly cooling cavern, his bum stinging from his fall. "Weasley?" he called uncertainly. "Weasley!" he called again, this time more gruffly and demanding. He scanned the room pointlessly, the pitch black of the temple impenetrable. _Bloody hell! Where was the bastard?_ Draco thought, panicked.

Draco had never seen blood magic preformed before and frankly, never wished to again. He almost cried out when Weasley slashed his arm, the flesh parting sickeningly. He had squinted through shielded eyes as Weasley fell forward, disappearing, the magic suddenly invisible. It had fallen from top to bottom, like water down stone.

He knew why the Dark Lord had wanted to find this place so badly. He understood why it had been so highly guarded against him and others like him. This temple or cavern or whatever it was, held devastating power. The circle of pure magic that had encircled Weasley had been blindly bright, the vivid red and green staining his sight still. He could feel the air still crackling with unused magical energy. It sent shivers down his spine, his flesh tingling.

Rising awkwardly to his feet, Draco withdrew his wand. "Lumos," he muttered, holding his wand out in front of him. To his dismay, the tip remained lifeless, the cavern still shrouded in darkness. He scowled at his wand, shaking it roughly through the air. "Lumos," he commanded. "Bloody hell," he growled, his wand remaining unlit. "Most finely crafted wands in the world my arse," he muttered under his breath, fumbling around in the darkness until he felt a break in the continuous circle of warm wall.

The trek up the stairs seemed longer in the darkness then when he had walked down them not an hour before. He felt uneasy being in a place of such unrestrained power without Weasley. At least he understood some of what was going on. He stopped mid-stride abruptly, smacking his palm against his forehead. No magic other than the old ways worked down here. How could he forget that?

Draco didn't bother to put any kind of disillusionment charms on Stonehenge as he Portkeyed back to his office. It wasn't his ruddy problem. His only concern now was owling Greg.

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

"I still don't understand," Bill sighed, looking intently at Ginny. "You barely spent any time – alone- with Malfoy."

"Umbridge," Ginny said with a small smile. "She assigned him to my piano lessons. Had the pleasure of his company for nearly all of fourth year. He had to walk me back to Gryffindor tower afterwards too. I'd never seen someone pout and sneer at the same time before. Quite amusing really."

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

"What do you mean you can't find it?" Draco thundered, his eyes flashing maliciously.

"I mean I can't find it," Greg repeated himself to Draco calmly. "It's not there anymore."

"I want that-"

"Draco," Greg interrupted sharply. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe Weasley had to summon the temple?" Draco faltered, looking across at Greg dumbly. "The spell probably ended when you left. Now, I have people stationed at Stonehenge. If and when Weasley makes an appearance we'll bring him straight to you, okay?" Draco nodded. "Right well, sorry mate, I have to get going. I'm late as it is."

"Got a date with your secret older woman?" Draco asked with a smirk.

"Something like that," Greg replied leeringly, walking across the room.

Draco scowled, pouring himself a rather large fire whisky. Taking a large gulp as the door closed behind Greg, Draco noticed his perfectly aged and expensive liquor held a distinctive and out of place flavour.

"Tilly!" Draco called placidly, waiting patiently for the House Elf to come to him. "Why is there calming draught in my fire whisky?"

"Because Master Draco is stubborn," Tilly answered with a definitive nod before disappearing with a loud _crack_. He heard Greg's deep belly laugh fading as the man made his way down the corridor. Draco sat staring at the spot where moments before his insubordinate House Elf had stood, trying to force his serene features into a scowl.

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

Ginny felt as a though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders as she told Bill everything about her relationships with both Draco and Harry. She had had to censure so much when talking to Charlotte, it felt good to be able to tell someone the full story. Well, as much of the full story as she could tell her brother. There were some things that little sisters shouldn't share with their big brothers.

Bill sat silently as she talked, never interrupting or pushing her, even when the silences stretched on for minutes. His facial expressions barely changed throughout, her only indication that he was listening the way his eyes seemed to flare when she spoke of her mistreatment by the two men.

"The press conference was the final straw. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to leave. So I emptied my Gringotts accounts and left,"

"How'd you get here though?" Bill asked, draining the last of his cold tea. "The Aurors checked every Apparation point in England."

"I flew," Ginny answered simply.

"You flew all the way from England to Los Angeles? Not even cross country fliers can make that distance,"

"Not on a broom, Bill," Ginny said, fiddling with a piece of loose thread from a buttonhole on her shirt. "On a Muggle aeroplane. That's actually how I meet-" An insistent knocking on her door interrupted Ginny. "'Scuse me."

Ginny raised herself slowly from the couch,and walked the short distance to her front door. She took a deep breath before unlatching the chain.

"Oh thank God! Gin, you're okay," Charlotte cried, as Ginny opened the door.

"Yes, I'm fine," said with a small smile at Charlotte's concern for her.

"Oh good I was so worried when Alex told me that a hideously mangled man was-

"He is **not** hideously mangled," Ginny interrupted harshly. "It's just scar tissue and they can do great things with cosmetic char-surgery now!"

"Alex said you looked fucking petrified when you saw him! Said your face was white as-" Bill raised himself from the couch, coming into the woman's line of sight, cutting her off abruptly. Ginny looked over her shoulder at Bill and sighed.

"Bill, this is Charlotte," she began, gesturing towards them each in turn. "And Charlotte, this is Bill, my brother."

"Brother?" she questioned, eyebrows raised. Ginny nodded, not meeting either of her guest's eyes. "Well now that you mention it I can see the family resemblance. It's the nose. Although, he does have a lot more gangle in him than you do, Gin." Ginny shot Charlotte a grateful smile, which Charlotte returned warmly. "Now am I setting an extra place at dinner?"

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

"So let me get this straight," Bill said as they sat in the back of a taxi on their way to Charlotte's. "There's Charlotte, who I've meet, her husband, Wyatt and their foster boys, Tyler and Sean. Then there's Alex and his son Jet. Is that right?"

"Perfect," Ginny said happily. "You'll be the belle of the ball."

"Oh hardy-haha,"

Ginny laughed, the sound making Bill's heart swell. He hadn't heard her laugh, genuinely laugh, in years. "So, um, hows Fleur?"

"Oh good show, you managed not to call her Fleghm! I'm impressed. Yes, Gin, I knew about that less than friendly nickname," Bill said scoldingly at Ginny's vehement denial. Ginny smiled guiltily.

"I never said it to her face." Bill rolled his eyes.

"She's fine. We've just found out she's pregnant actually,"

"What? Oh Bill congratulations!" Ginny said excitedly, leaning over to envelope her brother in an awkward hug. "I bet mum was happy when you told her."

"She doesn't know yet. Fleur wants to keep it to ourselves for a while and if I like all my bits in the right places, I'm to want to keep it quiet too." Ginny laughed.

"Poor Charlie though," she said sadly.

"Poor Charlie?" Bill asked mystified. "What do you mean 'poor Charlie'?"

"Well you've married _and_ producing spawn. You've fulfilled your obligation to Mum. She'll be onto Charlie next," Ginny said very matter-of-factly.

"Charlie boy's got himself a girlfriend."

Ginny scoffed, "Charlie's always got himself a girlfriend,"

"No, he's still with the one with the tattoo," Bill insisted.

"Of the butterfly?" Ginny asked flabbergasted.

"Don't be an idiot," Bill said dismissively. "That was nearly a year ago. Of the Ridgeback,"

"Oh, what's that five months?" Bill nodded. "Wow. Maybe you're right. They haven't lasted more than a month since that one he brought to my 13th birthday party. Poor Charlie,"

"Poor Charlie," Bill agreed sorrowfully. "Although he does live in Romania. It may be inconvenient for her to nag from so far away. She may just skip straight to Percy,"

"Lost cause. Percy's gay," Ginny said flippantly.

"He is not!" Bill exclaimed shocked. "I know we call him a poofter a bit," Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. "Okay, we call him a poofter a lot, but he's not literally a poofter,"

"Yes he is,"

"No, he's not," Bill said slowly.

"Yes, he is," Ginny said, handing the taxi driver a few bills. "Keep the change,"

"I would know if he was gay," Bill said over the taxi, closing the door.

"Well obviously you don't," Ginny said, stepping onto the curb and stopping outside Charlotte's.

"He would have told me and do you realise we're at a hairdressers?"

"No, he wouldn't and of course I do. Charlotte and Wyatt live upstairs,"

"Why wouldn't he tell me?" Bill asked as they walked through the business level of Charlotte and Wyatt's home. They could hear music playing and soft voices as they came up the stairs.

"Because you and the other homophobes always make fun of him about being a poofter,"

"We are not homophobes!" Bill whispered harshly, defending himself and his brothers.

"Look," Ginny said, suddenly turning to face Bill, her hands on her hips. "It doesn't matter if you are or not, the point is Percy thinks you are and he doesn't feel comfortable telling any of you. Now, we can talk about this later?" Bill nodded. "Good. Come on."

"Still can't believe he wouldn't tell me," Bill muttered under his breath petulantly. Ginny rolled her eyes.

'Hi everyone," Ginny called as she ushered Bill through the door.

"Hello, Ginny," Charlotte said, taking the bottle of wine from her. "Hello Bill, lovely to see you again. Why don't you head over to the kitchen and Jet will get you a drink,"

"What?" an incredulous voice sounded from the couch. "I hate being the eldest,"

"I'll be back in a minute, Bill, I'm just going to go to the loo," Ginny whispered.

Ginny exited the bathroom, softly singing along to the music played in the other room.

"So Weasley, hey?" Ginny stopped mid-stride, turning quickly to face Alex who was leaning causally against the doorframe. "I can see why'd you change it to Pearce," he said, smiling wickedly. "But just so we're clear, next time someone comes looking for a Ginny Weasley, I've never met her and don't know who you're talking about?"

Ginny nodded. "Thank you, Alex," she said sincerely, giving him a quick hug.

"Welcome," he said returning the hug. "Now should we go save your brother from Mama's clutches?"

"If we must,"

"So Bill," Charlotte said, handing him a glass of wine. "How long have you been married for?"

"Almost five years now," Bill answered happily, finding himself warming to the rather blunt woman.

"Oh that's nice. You realise you can't take her back with you, don't you?" Bill chocked on the sip of wine he had just taken.

"What?"

"Gin," Charlotte clarified. "She belongs here, not back in England,"

"I know," Bill began. "I-"

"Now don't get me wrong," Charlotte continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I think you coming here will do her the world of good. I haven't seen her fire up about anything like she did when I called you horribly disfigured, which I apologise for by the way, it's really not that bad up close."

Bill raised his eyebrows slightly at the 'apology' but took no real notice. It wasn't the cruellest comment he'd received about his face. Even now people still gasped when they saw him and he had had his face plastered all over the news after The Final Battle. Being the almost-brother-in-law of the Saviour of the Wizarding World will elevate a person in the eyes of the press. He'd learnt not to take any notice of what people said. If he did, he would probably never leave his flat.

"But her home is here now," Charlotte continued, "not anywhere else,"

"I know," Bill repeated, a little more forcefully than he intended.

"Good," Charlotte said warmly as Ginny and Alex approached.

"We've come to rescue the man from your clutches, Mama," Alex declared loudly, drawing quiet laughter from the younger boys.

"Oh and just who is going to rescue you?"

"Wyatt," Alex answered promptly and confidently.

"Oh really?" Mama questioned. "And just what leverage do you have over him that I cannot better?"

Alex wavered looking between Wyatt, who was in the kitchen, and Bill and then back to Charlotte. "I've changed my mind. You can have him." Ginny snorted, covering her mouth with her hand to cover her laughter as Alex glared balefully at her. "I don't see you trying to save him!"

"That's because I'm not deluded enough to go up against Charlotte," Ginny cried, laughter bubbling through her.

"You," he said, pointing to his laughing son. "Show no loyalty whatsoever."

"Alright that's enough," Wyatt called from the kitchen. "Boys come here and help carry the food out." Grumbling the boys made their way to the kitchen. "Alex could you get the wine, please?" Charlotte stuck her tongue out at Alex and mouthed 'I win' as she took her seat.

"Wyatt! Mama stuck her tongue out at me!"

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

Bill watched, throughout dinner how Ginny interacted with her friends. The conversation was light and easy with much laughter. Bill noticed that Ginny smiled more than she had at the last Weasley gathering. He couldn't remember when she had stopped smiling. He wondered if it was a gradual process or whether she had simply stopped one day. He didn't like that he couldn't say which. When had he stopped paying attention?

He was drawn from his thoughts when Charlotte placed a bowl in front of him with a large and delicious looking piece of cake.

"You know what, Charlotte," Ginny said as Charlotte placed a piece of cake larger than Bill's in front of her, glancing around the table. "I would really like a mug of your hot chocolate, if it's not too much trouble of course,"

"Of course it's not too much trouble, Baby!" Charlotte exclaimed, bustling round the table, clearing excess plates. "Would anyone else like one?"

A chorus of 'yes' went out from around the table. "And what about you, Bill?"

"A hot chocolate sounds great." Charlotte beamed at him before turning and disappearing into the kitchen. Bill turned his attention back to the table and shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he felt every pair of eyes trained on him.

"Taste the cake, Bill," Ginny ordered, her own fork poised in her hand. Bill glanced around the table, each of its occupants in a similar position as Ginny, forks poised above the cake. "How's it taste?" Ginny asked as Bill swallowed his first forkful.

"Good," Bill replied, uncertain as to why he was on the receiving end of such scrutiny.

"Really?" Tyler asked sceptically.

"You taste buds haven't been damaged in any way have they?" Alex asked, waving his fork at Bill.

"No. My tastebuds are perfectly fine." He snuck a confused glance at Ginny and was surprised to see her staring tentatively down at her plate.

"Gin, maybe you should taste it?" Alex suggested, nudging her arm.

"What? Why me? Make Jet taste it!"

"Hey!" Jet protested.

"Because you're the newest. She's not as attached to you as the rest of us," Alex answered, pushing Ginny's hand towards her cake. "Go on take one for the team." Ginny stared down at her cake pitifully, slowly raising a small corner to her mouth. Bill watched with raised eyebrows as Ginny chewed slowly, the others faces looking upon her intently.

"It's really good," Ginny said surprised.

"Why thank you, Baby," Charlotte said, carrying a tray laden with mugs and placing them on the table.

"Mama, did you really make this?" Alex asked, awed.

"Of course I did," Charlotte snapped.

"Really?"

"Well, maybe make is too stronger a word," Charlotte said carefully.

"Lotti," Wyatt said warningly.

"Alright fine I went out and bought it! My own fucking exploded!

The room was silent for a moment.

"Wyatt, how do you make a cake explode?" Sean finally asked.

"No way that I can think of,"

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

"And the cake thing?" Bill asked, as Ginny unlocked her apartment door, standing aside so Bill could enter.

"Mama makes Hagrid's cooking look gourmet,"

"You're kidding me?"

"Nope," Ginny said with a shake of the head settling on the couch. "She can make hot chocolate and that's about it. Oh and toast."

Bill laughed. "I really like her, Gin. She's like the anti-mum,"

Ginny's smile fell and she looked over to Bill with sad eyes. "Bill, how are mum and dad?"

"They're okay, Gin," Bill said soothingly, dropping down beside her. "They miss you and are worried about you, we all are, but everyone's fine,"

"Can you let them know that I'm okay? Without letting them know where I am," she added quickly. Bill nodded, wrapping an arm around her small frame. "I think you'll make a great dad," Ginny said, smiling. "Even if it's half Fleur." A few moments later Ginny snuck furtive glances up at Bill as she sat curled up against him on the couch, a playful glint in her eyes. Bill eyed her with mock suspicion. Her smile grew wider as Bill caught her looking at him.

"Cradle robber,"

"Snot machine."

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

Bill watched as Ginny served a pinched looking woman a cup of coffee. He could clearly see the scowl Ginny was suppressing and watched with a small smile as Ginny glared at Alex, who suddenly immersed himself in the paperwork laid out before him.

"Bloody wanker," Ginny growled, coming up beside Bill. "He makes me serve her every day! Right bitch that one is," Ginny said exasperatedly. Bill laughed, musing Ginny's curled hair with one hand. He'd forgotten how curly it was when it wasn't bogged down with the extra weight length brought. He chuckled at her disgruntled expression. She glared at him, her lips pursed. Suddenly her expression changed to one of concern, her mouth dropping open.

"Oh God, Bill! Your arm!"

Bill looked down at his arm, a deep red stain slowly seeping outwards, running down his arm.

"Ow," he squeaked as he felt his skin continue to part beneath his sleeve. "Apparently it's time for me to go."

"Go? But you just got here," Ginny whined. "You haven't even met Angie yet."

"Sorry, Gin," Bill said, giving her a one armed hug. "I used blood magick to find you and now the spell is breaking. I have to get away from all these Muggles before the spell really get going,"

"I thought you said the spell was breaking,"

"Yes," Bill said, rising from the bar stool and walking across the room. Ginny trailed behind him, pouting. "Remember magic cannot be created nor destroyed merely transformed from one form to another. For the spell to start the other needs to end."

"So why is it breaking now?" Ginny asked petulantly, pulling the door open for Bill and leading him onto the street.

"Because I have what I intended to get," Bill answered enigmatically, turning into the alley he had arrived in the day before. He continued hurriedly, the glare Ginny trained on him easily putting their mother's to shame. "The knowledge that you were safe and happy. That's all I wanted."

"I love you, Bill," Ginny said, wrapping her arms around Bill's waist.

"Love you too, Gin." Bill wrapped his blood free arm round her body. "Right, let go, I'm getting blood on you," Bill said gruffly, his eyes glistening.

"Good bye, Bill," Ginny said, a tear running down her cheek.

"See you later, Gin," Bill said, making his way to the centre of the alley, trying to remember exactly where he had been before.

Ginny shielded her eyes as a wall of bright red and green flew up, encasing Bill. She could feel the magical energy radiating of the wall in waves, making her the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. As suddenly as the wall had sprung up it fell. The only reminder it had ever been there, the tingling of Ginny's skin and the black dots that plagued her sight.

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

Bill once again saw a swirl of images, reaching for the image of the deserted temple; he fell forward, landing heavily on the stone floor. Bill raised himself from the ground carefully, brushing the grit form his grazed palms. He felt the heat of the room slowly return as flames once again rushed around the room. He trudged up the stone steps taking his time to observe the symbols engraved on the smooth rock the fire illuminated.

The mid-afternoon sun beat down on his back as he surfaced, his dragon hide bag swung over his left shoulder. Bill stopped suddenly. Sighing heavily, he dropped his bag to the grass, raising his hands in front of his chest.

"I'd wager that you're one of Malfoy's," Bill said calmly turning to the wizard behind him, who had his wand trained to Bill's heart.

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

"Was the crony really necessary, Malfoy?" Bill asked as he took a seat in Malfoy's office. "I would have come if you simply owled." Bill looked at Malfoy with distain, restraining himself from wrapping his hands around the pointy little bugger's pale neck and squeezing the life from him.

"Merely a precaution. An insurance policy, you could say," Malfoy said, leaning back into his plush leather chair. "Now I assume as you're back, in one piece and everything, that you know where Ginevra is."

"Yes and no," Bill answered. Maybe he'd settle for one good punch to the nose. Git like Malfoy, his world would probably end if his face got bloodied.

"Yes and no?" Malfoy sneered, a single eyebrow raised at the red-haired man.

"I know where Ginny is mentally, spiritually, nutritionally, although her physically location remains somewhat…"

"Elusive?" Malfoy suggested pleasantly, his eyes piercing through Bill's steady gaze.

"Yes." Bill's skin crawled. He couldn't stand to be around Malfoy. He had hurt Ginny so badly and yet Bill wondered whether all was what it seemed. He knew he had seen Malfoy at the one-year anniversary, skulking in the shadows always in the background. Always close to Ginny. At the time he had put down to a coincidence, how he always seemed to be so close but now he was beginning to wonder.

"You mean to tell be that I wasted thousands of Galleons so you could see a bloody alter?" Malfoy asked with an odd calmness. It was odd, Bill thought, how Malfoy's nature could seem forced and so utterly natural at the same time.

"Malfoy," Bill said, leaning forward in his chair, his elbow resting on his knees. "The temple didn't allow me to actually go to Ginny, but was more of a vision quest. I saw things, felt them," he lied with ease, his eyes never leaving the deep silver of Malfoy's. "I know that Ginny is alright. I know that she is safe and more importantly that she is happy. I know that she's put on weight so she's not gaunt anymore and that she's cut her hair, but I don't know where she is."

Draco stared at Bill. _He didn't know anything! After everything, he was still no closer to finding Ginny than he was the first day she went missing. He'd wasted months relying on the Weasley. _ "Clean up your arm before you leave, Weasley," Malfoy sneered, his gaze lingering disdainfully on Bill's bloodied sleeve. "You're going to give my clients the wrong idea about what goes on inside the Malfoy Corporation."

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**

Bill Apparated from Malfoy's office to the back yard of the burrow, hitting his head on a brightly coloured box hanging from one of the tree branches. Carefully, he sidestepped the now swinging box, afraid of whatever the twins had put in it.

"Hello, Ronnie. Where is everybody else?" Bill asked, taking a seat beside Ron on the back steps of the burrow.

"Hermione's inside yelling at Harry 'bout not believing that Ginny wasn't kidnapped. Mum's upstairs crying that her baby left her. Dad's with her, trying to comfort her or something. Fred and George blew up the back shed and are hiding from Mum and Perce, well he's Perce."

"So why aren't you inside fighting with Hermione too?"

"Because she left, Bill," he said tiredly. "We've all known she left since the second letter. I was just holding onto the hope that she was taken." Ron answered mournfully.

"You wanted your baby sister to be kidnapped by Death Eaters?" Bill asked incredulously, staring at his youngest brother.

"No! Of course not, it's just," he took a deep breath, staring out at the back garden, shredding a leaf between his fingers. "If she left, she was running from _something_ which means I failed. Again. I didn't protect her from something... Again."

Bill clapped a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder, unwilling to lie by anything more than omission.

"And you know what the worse part of it all is? I don't know what it was I was meant to be protecting her from."

**GMGMGMGMGMGM**


	7. Chapter 7

.

**A/N:** We're nearing the end of what I have written and as I've just started a new job, I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write, so unfortunately updates may become a tad more infrequent. I shall do my best.

GMGMGMGM

**Once in a Lullaby**

Draco stormed towards his office, silently cursing his father for making the parlour the only Apparition point in the Manor. He was back at square one. Hell, he didn't even know where square one began.

He slammed his office door as he strode to his desk, and threw his cloak over the couch. Whipping out his wand, he cast a spell on the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled the drawer open to reveal its hidden contents; a large stack of unopened envelopes. He levitated them onto his desk, piling them so the first envelope out of the drawer found a new home at the base of the large pile.

He ripped open an envelope and pulled out a thick folder, flipping it open without hesitation. The tired face of Ginny Weasley, walking slowly out of St Mungo's, stared up at his thunderous gaze from the time and date stamped photograph.

GMGMGMG

"Hey, Gin," Alex said, sliding up beside Ginny as she absently wiped the bar with a cloth. "Where's your brother gone? Gotten sick of you already?"

Ginny glared playfully, throwing the cloth at Alex's chest. "No. He had to leave. Work stuff apparently. He shouldn't have taken the time off that he did so he had to go home."

"Oh, I'm sorry. He seemed like a good guy."

"Yeah, he is," Ginny said, smiling softly.

"So," Alex said, a bright smile lighting up his face. "You up for a shift at the Bronze tonight?"

Ginny's smile broadened. "You, Alex Brixson, are going to entrust me, Ginny Pearce, with the precious alcohol?"

"Mark quit. I have no one else," Alex replied with a shrug, pushing himself off the counter. He turned back to Ginny as he walked away. "You missed a spot," he said, throwing the rag at her.

"It would be so much easier if I could just charm you stain resistant," Ginny grumbled, staring down disdainfully at the counter.

GMGMGMGMG

"Master Draco, should learn to close doors softly when he is in a snit," Tilly admonished. "Malfoy Manor is old and its hinges untrustworthy." Draco shot Tilly a hateful glare as she placed a tray laden with coffee and dinner on his papers.

"Perhaps you could enlighten me as to why you thought putting the tray on my work would be beneficial to your life span?" Draco spat, pushing the tray aside. Coffee spilt, sloshing audibly, over the edge of the fine china.

"Master Draco, must take a break," Tilly said, unaffected by Draco's harsh demeanour. "Master Draco, will not figure out where his Ginny has gone if Master Draco is too tired and hungry to read."

"These," he said, waving a folder in the House elf's wide-eyed face, "are Malfoy Corporation related documents."

"And Tilly is really a goblin, Sir."

Draco shot her one last scowl before returning his attention to the slowly dwindling pile of unopened envelopes. Papers were strewn across his desk, remnants of envelopes lay torn and crumpled on the floor around him. Different angles of Ginny's face lying amongst the clutter.

Draco took his time reading through the files, taking notes of all things that struck him as important. He didn't know exactly how long he had been reading for, but he shut the blinds as the sun began to rise, the half light of the early morning casting shadows around his office.

Draco looked up at the sound of his office door opening smoothly, a sharp click resonating around the room, silent but for the sporadic scratching of his quill.

"What are you doing here, Greg?" Draco asked, distractedly, making another note on his scroll.

"Tilly Flooed me."

"Now why would she do that?" Draco asked, his quill pausing over the page as he looked up at Greg, eyebrows raised.

"She said something along the lines of 'Master Draco has lost his mind'."

"I most certainly have not!"

"So you haven't been reading these files for the past twenty four hours without so much as a tea break? Tilly was mistaken?"

"Tilly was not mistaken!" a high-pitched voice called through the door before Draco had a chance to answer. "Tilly is never wrong about her Master Draco. Tilly is good House Elf."

"Tilly is a soon to be a clothes-owning House Elf!" Draco called angrily, directing a spiteful glare at the closed door. While Draco was distracted, Greg took the opportunity to take a closer look at the mess of paper covering Draco's desk.

"Draco, what the hell is all this?" Greg asked softly, picking up a discarded folder and flicking quickly through it.

"Nothing of your concern," Draco said calmly, holding out his hand for the folder.

"Nothing of my concern?" Greg repeated incredulously. "Are all these files on the girl Weasel?"

"No, I believe there is one solely dedicated to Colin Creevey."

"Draco," Greg said firmly, looking directly into his friend's impassive eyes. "Have you been stalking Ginny Weasley?"

"I was not stalking her," Draco replied snidely. "I simply hired a Private Investigator to follow her. He sent me these reports. Besides," Draco added dismissively, "a stalker would have opened the reports long before now."

"Damn it, Draco," Greg thundered, slamming his hand down on the desk. Draco looked up at his childhood crony shocked. "Do you even care what it would look like if these were discovered? She's the Minister's daughter for Merlin's sake. Harry bleeding Potter's fiancée! What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I'm trying to find some clue as to where the bint has disappeared to!" Draco snapped. Greg stared at Draco astounded. "Or someone who had the resources to help her, or who she would tell where she was going. Something! Anything!"

Greg sighed, rubbing his forehead with one hand. One of these days he was going to kill Draco. The man was just a royal pain in the arse. "Anything standing out?" he asked finally, unable to help his inquisitorial nature.

"Mundane," Draco answered, pulling another folder off the diminished pile. "It's all mundane. She didn't see anyone out of the ordinary. Hell, she didn't _do_ much of anything. Went to work, had lunch with Potter occasionally, went home. Did it all again the next day."

"How many files you got left?"

"Just those," he said, gesturing to a small pile to his left.

"How many files did you have originally?"

"Not sure. I had the private investigator send me a report once a week. Sometimes twice a week."

"Fine. Owl me if you have some kind of lead you want me to look into. One last question though." Draco looked up at Greg expectantly, irritation showing on his chiselled features. "How come you didn't hire me to tail her?"

GMGMGMGMG

Draco rubbed his eyes roughly as he felt his tired eyelids begin to flutter shut. He reached blindly for the coffee pot Tilly had left for him, spilling the tepid liquid across his desk. Draco growled, rushing to lift the photographs from the brown liquid that was seeping through the glossy paper. He shook the wet pages in his hand, flicking excess coffee onto to the floor.

Tiredly, he began casting drying spells on the sodden and stained photographs. "Fuck," he swore, throwing his wand and the photographs onto his desk. Slumping in his seat, he watched as the coffee soaked the photographs unhindered. His brow furrowed as he watched a stained and distorted Ginny, pouting to a figure in frame behind her. The figure, a man, patted Ginny's shoulder awkwardly, in an attempt to comfort her.

"Longbottom?" he breathed.

Draco picked up the photographs and carefully peeling them apart. He cast drying spells on them, before laying them neatly on his now coffee free desk. He looked intently at each photograph in turn. They were all of St. Mungo's. She had gone there once a fortnight. His private investigator had written that she went in for two hours, and he assumed that she volunteered in the Spell Damage Ward. However, he could not confirm it as one of the nurses had recognised him and refused to let him past the front desk, something to do with the patients' privacy at a vulnerable time in their lives or some rot. Draco took a quill and circled Longbottom in green ink. He was in every photograph, always close to Ginny but never beside her. He was in every single one.

"Greg!" he yelled into the emerald flames. "Greg, answer your damn Floo." A few moments later Greg appeared at the Floo, dirty dishes in hand.

"What is it, Draco?" he asked, shooting glances over his shoulder. "I'm a little busy at the moment."

"Tell the bint that I'll pay for her to come back tomorrow night," Draco retorted snidely. "I've got a job for you." Greg's eyes narrowed at Draco's remark.

"Like I said, Draco, I'm busy at the moment," he said coldly, emphasising the plates in his hands. "I'll come by tomorrow."

"Honestly, Greg, how dumb are you? The whole point in paying is that you don't have to bother with dinner."

With a final glare, Greg shut off the Floo Call. Draco stared into the flickering red and orange flames in shock. Greg had disconnected them. He'd disconnected a Floo Call with _him_. Draco slung his cloak over his shoulders as he stormed to the parlour, whipping a House-Elf in the face with the expensive material. He ignored Tilly as she admonished him, for being cruel to Chinky.

Apparating outside Greg's penthouse flat, Draco raised an eyebrow at Greg's lax security, and opened the door with a simple Alohomora.

"Goyle!" he bellowed, slamming the door shut behind him. "What the hell did you-" he stopped abruptly as he rounded the corner into Goyle's living room. He was met with a blushing Greg, who was scrambling off his shirtless partner, hurriedly buckling his belt, his shirt hanging open.

"Well, that explains how you knew so much about Weasley's disappearance," Draco said calmly, raising his eyebrows and looking between a livid Greg and a confused Percy Weasley.

GMGMGMGMG

"Get out," Greg said softly and dangerously, his shirt buttoned unevenly.

"What's crawled up your skirt?" Draco sneered. "And bloody hell, Greg, do up your fly!"

"What's crawled up… what's crawled up my… oh I don't know, Draco. It could be that you just broke into my flat and told Percy that I've been passing on information he told me in confidence to you! Draco fucking Malfoy!"

"So buy him some flowers," Draco sneered dismissively. "This is more important than some piece of arse. I was going through the photos-"

"Oh bloody hell, Draco, there are more important things then where Ginny Weasley has run off to! Its your own damn fault she's not here so why don't you go find a nice tart to shag and bloody well get over it!"

"She-"

"Is fine," Greg interrupted hotly. "Bill already told you she's fine!"

"If she was so ruddy fine, why did she up and leave in the middle of the bloody night!"

Greg sighed exasperatedly, scrubbing his furrowed brow with his large hand. "Draco," he said softly, forcing himself to remain calm. "You _have_ to let her go."

"No," Draco said coldly. "I don't." He dropped a thin wad of folders on the coffee table beside him. "I expect the results of your investigation in twenty-four hours," he said, slamming the front door hard behind him.

GMGMGMGMG

Ginny absentmindedly drummed her fingers on the bar, watching the patrons of the slowly filling Bronze. She broke the rhythm as a customer approached her, raising her voice over the loud music and forcing Ginny to remember just how Alex had told her to make an apple martini. She spotted Alex laughing at her as she placed the green drink on the bar with a flourish five minutes later, smiling brightly at the disgruntled woman in front of her. She glanced over at Alex, who was making his way to the stage, preparing to introduce the live act for this evening, and he gave her double thumbs up, smiling geekily back at her.

She flopped down on her bed around midnight. The Bronze had still been full of people but Alex had shooed her home. She lay exhausted beneath the warmth of her quilt, her mind whirring. The quiet of her flat let her think for the first time that day. Talking to Bill had brought back so many memories that she had worked hard to repress. _His_ face floated in her minds eye, the sharp angles threatening to slice her soul in half. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the pricks of colour the action brought would be enough to shut the memory of him out.

Despite her best efforts, his face continued to haunt her. She sat up with a growl, throwing the heavy quilt away from her. This was bloody ridiculous! She hadn't seen the ponce in a year. He wasn't _that_ good of a shag. Ginny sighed, playing with the small snake that glittered in eerily in red light of her alarm clock. Memories rushed at her, breaking down her weakened defences. This was all Bill's fault; she pouted before allowing the memory to overwhelm her.

_It had been the Christmas holidays of her seventh year. With the battle looming, Molly had wanted all her babies under the same roof for Christmas. The trio had been back too, needing to research the location of the final three Horcruxes, and forcing Ginny to endure Harry's attentions. And then there was him. He watched her constantly, seeing through her façade. Her skin remained in a constant state of prickling, his eyes boring in to her back. She could feel him glowering at her, despite the emotionless expression that always stained his face. _

_He cornered her on Christmas day, forcing her up against the wall, hands resting just below her breasts. He kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She stiffened immediately, her hands coming up to push against his chest, dropping the present she held as she wrenched her lips away from him. _

"_What do you think you're doing?" she whispered harshly, trying to push his hands off her. Draco's grip on her tightened, pushing his body up against her. He leant forward pressing a kiss to her neck. "Stop," she said weakly, her head lolling back against the wall, arching her neck to give him better access. "Harry-" she breathed, her arms encircling his neck loosely. _

"_Doesn't love you," he interrupted, growling into her neck. "We've been through that." He silenced her protests with his mouth, seizing her mouth with his in a bruising kiss. With a lustful moan, Ginny fisted her hand in his hair, her tongue sweeping around his mouth. Her hands drifted to his shoulders, gripping tightly as she pushed her body up, wrapping her legs around his waist. She groaned as his thumb rubbed lightly against the underside of her breasts, teasing the sensitive flesh. _

_Draco's hand travelled down her body, slipping the top button of her jeans through the hole, pushing the zip down. Ginny pushed her hips into his, Draco's hands sliding beneath the denim and over the material of her knickers. _

_The sounds of people below them caused Ginny to hurriedly drop her legs from around his waist, pushing Draco away from her. _

"_Hey, Ginny," Ron called up the stairs. "Lunch is on!" _

_Draco ran his hand through his hair as Ginny quickly redid her jeans. _

"_Hurry up, Ginny!" _

"_I'm just getting your present, Harry," she yelled downstairs in reply, her voice wobbling slightly. Draco raised his eyebrows._

_She bent down to retrieve the forgotten present on the ground. As she stood Draco captured her lips in a quick, scorching kiss. He thrust a small metal object into her hands, before pushing off the wall and stalking down the hall, leaving Ginny panting alone in the corridor. Slowly, Ginny opened her hand, staring at the small silver snake._

"_Gin," Ron called up the stairs again, his voice impatient and whiney. "Come on, we're all waiting for you!"_

"_Coming," Ginny yelled, stuffing the snake deep into her pocket._

She glanced at her clock radio, 3.47 am. Oh she was going to have fun getting up for work tomorrow or later that morning, rather.

GMGMGMGMG

At eleven o'clock the next morning, Ginny slipped into the Bronze, tying her black apron round her waist.

"Bit late there, Gin," Angie chuckled, bouncing her daughter lightly on her lap.

"Shut up," Ginny pouted, tickling little Harriet's stomach. "Think Alex will notice?"

"He might," Alex said, grabbing Ginny from behind, a high pitch squeal escaping her.

GMGMGMG

Draco sat in the darkness of the early morning, nursing his fourth large brandy, music playing loudly behind him.

Ginny scowled, fantasising about all the ways she could kill Alex for making her clean up the dried vomit backstage, and cursing whatever part of the body allowed for projectile vomiting. Scrunching up her nose, she scrubbed what appeared to be dried carrot from a table leg, the smell pierced through her senses. She pulled down on the black cloth as she stood, the material falling into the wet patch at her feet.

She sighed dejectedly, scooping up the cloth and throwing it atop the black varnish of the tabletop. Peeling gold letters caught her eye as she pushed her bucket of murky water with her feet. 'Yamaha' she read, lifting the lid to reveal piano keys.

Ginny ran her fingertips over the black and ivory keys. She pulled a rickety stool over, settling in front of the piano, her fingers hovering in a familiar position over the keys.

Draco raised his wand, changing the track, Toso's La Balla delle Notte echoing around through the silence of the Manor, encompassing Draco.

Ginny's fingers moved gracefully over the well-worn keys, playing Toso's composition with ease. She struck the wrong note but continued without pause, shaking her head at her mistake.

Draco listened for the wrong note he knew would never come, the recording was perfect. He threw back the last of the Firewhisky in the glass, memories of the first time he heard her play assaulting him.

Ginny frowned as the carefully ordered notes pulled memories from deep within her.

_You will have two hours in which you will not leave this room without being accompanied by the member of the Inquisitorial Squad that I have assigned, or I shall be forced to suspend these – unusual lessons."_

"_Yes, Ma'am," Ginny said sweetly, forcibly preventing her face from descending into a furious scowl. _

"_Yes, well, he should be here shortly," Umbridge said, opening the doors to Ginny's music room with a muttered spell._

"_Miss Ginevra!" her ghost of a music teacher greeted, gliding gracefully over to them. "Dolores," he said, nodding his transparent head stiffly. _

"_Sir Brackensouth!" Umbridge gushed. "How are you this fine evening?" Ginny rolled her eyes behind Umbridge's back. The woman would kiss the arse of a Blast Ended Skrewt_

"_Dead," he replied, deadpan._

"_Oh!" Umbridge exclaimed, floundering, her face flushed. "I only meant, I mean I know some ghosts are a little touchy about their um… little life impairment problem."_

"_I, however, am not one of them." He turned quickly, his long robe passing through her torso, causing Umbridge to shudder at the sudden chill. "You are disrupting my lesson, Dolores. Kindly remove yourself from my presence."_

_Umbridge turned and huffed out the room, slamming the door behind her. _

"_How'd you get her to do that?" Ginny asked in awe. "She just- left."_

"_Simple," the ghost replied, a mischievous smile playing on his greyed lips. "I am not bound to this castle as many of the ghosts of Hogwarts. I am able to move on whenever I please, taking the prestige and the rather large sum of galleons my presence here brings with me. Ah, the joys of being famous." Ginny laughed, taking a seat at the grand piano in the centre of the room. _

"_Just how many galleons do you bring in, William?" Ginny asked curiously_

"_A gentleman never tells, Miss Ginevra," William answered, conspiratorially tapping the side of his nose._

"_Oh come on! Please," Ginny protested._

"_It is enough that I may have my pick of students," Ginny smiled, watching as her teacher floated to the middle of the piano. "Now-"_

_The sudden and violent opening of the door interrupted him. Draco Malfoy stormed through the door, his cloak billowing behind him. William watched with distain as Malfoy stalked across the room and placed himself atop the stage, facing them with a sneer._

"_What are you waiting for, Weasley? Feel free to butcher whatever piece of music Sir Brackensouth has assigned you."_

"_Now that I have your permission," Ginny replied with a sneer, leaning down to withdraw her music from her bag._

"_Quite alright. I'm in a generous mood this evening," Draco said pleasantly, leaning back on his elbows, one leg hanging down off the stage, the other bent at the knee on the stage._

"_Master Draco," William said calmly, turning sharply to face Draco. "You will hold your tongue or I shall ensure that you have no further use for it,"_

"_I am a prominent member of the Inquisitorial Squad and-"_

"_And **I** am Sir William Cordwell Brackensouth, the most respected and sought after composer in the magical world. I assure you Mister Malfoy, Hogwarts would mourn **my** loss far more acutely than it would yours. Do not feign ignorance of that fact. It is an insult to both our intelligences. You are well aware that threats from your family cannot sway me," William thundered, silencing Draco and causing Ginny to stare at him in shock. She had never heard William raise his voice before. He was always so softly spoken. William whipped his body back around to face Ginny. _

"_Now, Miss Ginevra," he said sweetly, a soft smile on his face. "Let's hear how La Balla delle Notte is coming along. You've had it for two weeks now?" Ginny nodded. "Of course, with that keyboard you insist on practicing on, I am not overly confident that you will have come close to perfecting it."_

"_William, we've discussed this. Just because it's not a grand piano doesn't mean I can't hit the right keys on it."_

"_I still would like to have a word with your brother regarding the wisdom of that particular birthday present. It's derived from a Muggle contraption for Merlin's sake!" _

_Draco ignored the continued mutterings of Sir Brackensouth as Ginny began to play. He wanted to give her his undivided attention so when he walked her back to Gryffindor tower, he could brief her on just how badly she mangled Toso's La Balla delle Notte. With great power comes sodding responsibility, he thought petulantly. _

_It had taken him over a month of relentless practice last summer to come close to perfecting La Balla delle Notte. The chit had only had the piece for two weeks and hardly had enough time to practice a piece of such a degree of difficulty. And so, he listened for errors as Ginny played, her fingers moving quickly and gracefully across the ivory keys. _

_But they never came. _

_He heard a few wrong notes, yes, but even with his intimate knowledge of the piece, he struggled to pick them. Though he knew that the notes she played were incorrect, the few erroneous notes, and damn it there were only a few, seemed to fit into the piece. She just made them fit. _

_Draco scowled as Ginny's fingers came to a pause and Brackensouth began to gently but bluntly admonish Ginny for her mistakes. He listened absently as she began to play again, focusing solely on the bars she struggled with. Draco's lip curled with distain. _

_She was better than him._

"_Not so fast, Ginevra!" Sir Brackensouth admonished. "Why must you insist on playing ten times faster than the composer intended?" Ginny shrugged, smiling brightly, causing Sir Brackensouth to sigh in exasperation. "Leave." _

_Ginny jumped up quickly from her seat, stuffing her books and the loose sheets of music into her bag. _

_Draco slid gracefully from the stage, dusting himself off discreetly. He gave a curt nod to Sir Brackensouth, which the ghost returned stiffly, as he followed Weasley from the room, his long strides quickly bring him even with her. Silently, he led her to Gryffindor tower. He could hear her breathing begin to quicken as she struggled to keep up with him as he took the stairs two at a time. He turned on his heel as she muttered the password under her breath, disappearing with a scowl down the shadowed corridor._

"Gin," Alex said, surprise and awe colouring his voice, causing her to stop abruptly. "That's fantastic. I didn't know you could play."

Ginny smiled shyly, "I took lessons at school."

With a cry, Draco threw his glass at the wall before turning his wand on the player. The music stopped abruptly as shards of plastic and metal embedded themselves in the wall.

GMGMGMGM

**A/N:** Toso is a composer of my own creation as is Brackensouth. I'm not well versed when it comes to classical music (or any music really) so I'm just inventing my own as the need arises.

Also La Balla delle Notte means 'the dance of the night' in Italian. It's my own translation and I have now discovered that a foreign language leaves your memory very quickly and efficiently when you stop taking the classes.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Long and Short of it**

Every Wednesday, Neville Longbottom visited his parents. For one hour he revelled in their presence. For one hour he would endure them. He wished he could stay longer but his lunch break was only one hour. Then he wished his boss hadn't agreed to let him have an extended lunch break.

The war had changed Neville. Hardened him and robbed him of his boyish ignorance and naivety. He carried a bitter chip on his shoulder. Not as large as some but he could feel it there, pressing on him, digging into his flesh. He sighed as he listened to his mother's nonsensical nattering.

"You're a nice boy," she said suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to her. "My Neville will be a nice boy." Neville stared at her. She had never mentioned him before. "Yes," she continued. "He would have been a nice boy."

Neville felt his throat constrict and his eyes begin to well with tears. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, his wand falling to the floor. He watched his parents until his wand began to admit a low-pitched beeping sound.

Bidding his parents farewell, Neville made his way to the nearest Apparition point. He went through the rest of the day mechanically, his mother's words replayed in his head over and over, till he felt as though that simple sentence was scorching his temples. _My Neville will be a nice boy_. He was a nice boy. And he was a good man.

Lost in his thoughts as he walked home, Neville failed to notice the large man that had been following him for the past four days.

GMGMGMGMGMG*~*~*

"What have you got for me, Greg?" Draco asked, leaning back in his chair at the Malfoy Corporation.

"Not a lot," Greg replied, sounding bored. "Looks like Longbottom was just a friend. Seems like he was the only person she really stayed in contact with after the war."

"What? So she met him once a week to shag behind Potter's back?" Draco sneered hatefully.

"That was more your scene, wasn't it?" Greg asked testily. Draco's chair snapped forward, his features morphing into a fierce glare, his teeth bared.

"Watch your mouth, Goyle," he ground out, gripping the edge of his desk tightly. Greg simply rolled his eyes. He had learnt long ago that Draco Malfoy wasn't nearly as dangerous and ruthless as he would have people believe.

"Or they could be at the spell damage ward visiting Longbottom's parents," Greg suggested. Draco scrubbed his face with his hands, pushing his hair out his face. He absently made a mental note to have his hair seen too. It really was getting too long. He had no desire to enhance the similarities between himself and his father.

"Grab us the whiskey would you?" Draco sighed tiredly. "I need a drink before I go see Longbottom."

Greg fished his wand out his robe pocket obediently, knowing his friend had reached his limit. With a muttered Wingardium Leviosa, Greg flicked his wand in the direction of the whisky. The bottle shattered, spilling across the table where it resided and seeping into the carpet below. Greg froze, not daring to move more than to dart his eyes trying to judge Draco's reaction.

Draco took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Please don't tell me that was the 21 year old MacAoidh."

Greg took a few tentative steps forward craning his neck in order to see the bottle's label amongst the broken glass. He spotted the distinctive MacAoidh crest and sighed. "Fair enough. I'll respect your wishes."

"Get out of my office."

GMGMGMGMG*~*~*

Neville stepped out of his small bathroom rubbing his temples. The hot shower he had longed for not having the desired affect on his headache. Dressing for bed in simple drawstring cotton trousers and a t-shirt, Neville trudged into his small kitchen making himself a cup of white tea. It was a habit he had picked up from his Gran who was always seeking to ensure the healthiest diet possible. He suspected her obsession with finding the healthiest of options stemmed from her fear of how he would cope if he lost her as well as his parents.

Spilling a few drops of his tea on his coffee table, despite his care to avoid such an occurrence, Neville flopped onto his couch. He sipped mechanically until he reached the border between sleep and consciousness, the teacup tipping precariously in his hand, threatening to spill the remains of his tea across his chest.

A sharp knock at his door, saw Neville sit bolt upright, spilling the last of his tea everywhere. The delicate floral design of the tea cup shattered on contact with the hardwood floor. Wiping away the tea that had landed on him, Neville stood, grumbling as he made his way to the door.

"Longbottom," Malfoy greeted pleasantly when the door opened. "I thought we could have a little chat," he said, smiling evilly.

GMGMGMGMG*~*~*

"I assure you, Gregory, I am well aware of the implications of Ginny leaving of her own free will, however, I do not accept that every effort should not be made to locate her!" Greg sighed at his boyfriend's words. He was getting sick of having this conversation over and over again. Draco, Percy. Percy, Draco. It was too much. "My brothers and the Ministry may have abandoned hope but I will not."

"Perce, you have to let her go. She'll contact you in her own time," Greg said, trying desperately to keep the exasperation out of his voice. It was hardly Percy's fault that Draco was an idiot and had to keep rehashing everything with him.

"You did not know my sister," Percy replied pointedly, pompously crossing his arms across his chest and sticking his nose in the air. "You have no knowledge of her behavioural tendencies."

"No, but I know Weasleys and you're all as stubborn as each other." Percy looked affronted by the suggestion but didn't interrupt. "She'll come home, Percy." He looked softly at Greg, before allowing himself to be pulled into Greg's arms. "I promise." _Because Draco is going to drag her here whether she likes it or not,_ he added silently.

GMGMGMGMG*~*~*

"Why did you meet her every week at St Mungo's?"

"That is none of your business, Malfoy," Longbottom spat at Draco who had made himself comfortable on Longbottom's couch. Draco stared at Longbottom curiously. _When had that runt grown a spine?_

"Were you shagging her behind Potter's back?" Draco asked indifferently. "You always were trying to be Potter. Maybe fucking his girl was your one way of achieving that end." Longbottom looked shocked at the suggestion, spluttering what Draco assumed was a denial of his accusation. "Since your meetings with Weasley were so innocent you should have no qualms about sharing the details of those," he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "dates with me."

Neville sighed. Quickly weighing up his options he decided that telling Malfoy what he wanted to know was by far the easiest path. It wasn't like he knew anything useful anyway.

He spoke softly but surely as he acquiesced to Malfoy. "She volunteered in the spell damage ward. She'd spent a lot of time there after the war with her brothers and Harry. She knew that after a while people just forget about the people there. Everybody just goes on with their lives while people sit rotting in an under funded ward with over worked staff. So every week she came and talked to the patients and helped the nurses." He shook his head sadly. "Is that enough for you Malfoy?" he asked, suddenly fierce. "Can you get out of my house now, please?"

Draco looked over Longbottom carefully before deciding that he had gotten all the information he could out of him. Draco fought to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. Longbottom didn't know anything. He rose slowly from the couch, smoothing his robes, silently crossing the room to the door.

"Why do you want to find her so badly, Malfoy?" Longbottom asked suddenly, halting Draco's exit.

"Simply repaying a debt," Draco replied ambiguously. He was surprised to hear Longbottom snort at his reply. He turned sharply to face Longbottom, shocked at the dark expression on the once podgy boy's face.

"Did you ever stop to think, Malfoy, that maybe _you_ are the reason she left?"

"The thought had not crossed my mind," Draco lied smoothly, quirking an eyebrow in a façade of surprise.

"I don't know what was between you and Ginny, but I do know that you hurt her." Draco stood stoically, his thoughts masked by his stony expression. "If you do happen to find her, if you make so much as one tear roll down her cheek, I will personally make sure you never take another breath." The threat, though not as effective as it would have been had Longbottom not allowed his voice to wobble, was enough to have Draco promptly exit the flat. There was something in Longbottom's eyes that had Draco making a mental note to have a house-elf test his tea for poison from now on and he hastily Apparated home.

Closing the door behind Malfoy, Neville leaned his head against the cold wood, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. His headache had returned with vengeance. Tiredly, Neville retrieved his wand from his cloak and with a muttered Reparo, melded the pieces of broken china together. He sighed as he placed the now clean small cup back in his cupboard, noticing the small chip on the rim.

GMGMGMGMG*~*~*

Draco threw his cloak in the general direction of a house-elf upon Apparating into his parlour. He reasoned that, as it was eight o'clock, the most likely place he would find Tilly would be the kitchen, carefully ensuring his dinner would still be fresh and warm when he returned home. He stalked to the kitchen being careful to mute his approach. Cautiously, he peered through the window on the door, smiling smugly as he spotted Tilly ordering the other elves around.

Murmuring so as not to be heard by Tilly, Draco cast spell after spell on the kitchen door. He uttered one last incantation his father had taught him preventing house-elf Apparition in this part of the manor. Satisfied the door was well and truly locked, he quickly and quietly made his way to his study.

As he made his way upstairs, he calculated that it would take five minutes for the house-elf he had just passed in the parlour to gain the courage to inform Tilly of his arrival and then a further fifteen minutes for her to break the charms he had placed around the kitchen. That gave him twenty minutes to get himself unequivocally pissed before Tilly stormed in and took away his alcohol whilst giving him a lecture. He was in no mood to hear that his drinking wouldn't bring Ginny back. If he was honest with himself, the only time she left was when he was too drunk to form a thought.

GMGMGMGMG*~*~*

"I've already said no!" Ginny said forcibly, glaring at Alex around a vase of brightly coloured flowers.

"Come on, Gin," Alex cajoled. "You've been here, what five months?" Ginny nodded reluctantly. "It's about time you went on a date and Brian is a great guy."

"He was boring. I spent five minutes with the guy and wanted a nap!"

Alex shrugged. "Yeah, he has that affect on me too." Ginny rolled her eyes. "What? I thought it was just me. Salad?" Alex offered after placing a small amount of salad onto his plate.

"What about that lovely boy who asked you out the other night?" Mama asked from the kitchen, filling a bowl with bread rolls. "Why'd you say no to him?"

"He had dreadlocks!"

"And your hair is curly and the colour of a fucking vegetable but he was able to look past that!"

"I just don't want to get into a relationship right now," Ginny said calmly and definitively, her tone indicating the conversation was over.

Mama, however, ignored the tone. "Who said anything about a relationship? You just need to get laid!"

"Mama!" Ginny cried scandalised, casting worried looks at the three young boys at the end of the table, who until that point had little interest in the adult's conversation.

"What?" Mama asked, slipping into the seat across from Ginny. "It relieves stress."

"I. Am. Not. Stressed," Ginny denied vehemently, clenching her jaw. Her fingers gripping her fork so tightly her knuckles were white.

"No, you just have a stick shoved so far up your ass that-"

"I think she understands you, Lotti," Wyatt interrupted sternly, flashing Ginny an apologetic smile.

"No, she doesn't," Charlotte insisted, giving her husband a fierce glare. "She's so concerned with proving to her family that she can live her life anyway she wants that she's not living it."

"I am too living my life. Just because my life is man-less - at the moment," she added hastily. "Doesn't mean that there's something wrong with it."

"When it means that you're not meeting _anyone_, yes it damn well does! You haven't made any friends since you got here."

"What about Angie? I'm going there after dinner," Ginny pointed out smugly.

"Angie doesn't count. You met her at work through Alex," Mama said dismissively. "You're young. You need to go out to clubs and dance and drink, and then stumble home completely "smashed". You need to run the risk of waking up with a new piercing- which you boys will no do until you are twenty one," she added fiercely to Sean, Tyler and Jet, pairing her tone with an intimidating glare and wagging a finger in front of her. "Is that clear?"

"Yes Mama," the boys grumbled obediently, turning their eyes downcast to their plates.

"Baby," Mama said softly. "You've got no one to please here. There's no standard you have to live up too. No expectations." Ginny looked into Mama's warm eyes, feeling comforted, safe and contented – and mortally embarrassed. "Except mine," she added bluntly. "And I want you to have a lead a life you have fun with. Play the fucking piano, attempt to wear yellow with that hair. I don't care what you do as long as you stop just letting life happen to you. You moved here for a fresh start so fucking start already." Ginny just stared at her, at a loss as to how to respond. "Peas?" Mama offered.

Ginny sat in thought, hoping feverously that the heat in her cheeks would subside, while quietly nibbling her way through her plate and a generous helping of peas. She turned her head sharply, shocked, as Alex whispered into her ear. "It's a good thing Mama isn't the type to discuss private issues in front of people, isn't it?" He winked at her as she laughed lightly, glancing fondly at Mama as Alex rolled his eyes, effectively breaking Ginny out of her reprieve.

GMGMGMGMG*~*~*

"And she said all that with the boys there?" Angie asked, pouring herself a glass of wine.

"Yep," Ginny replied, popping a Maltesa into her mouth. "I swear the woman is missing some kind of lobe!"

"You love her," Angie teased lightly.

"Course I do," Ginny replied swiftly and sincerely. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

"When Adam died, she brought dinner over every night and just chatted to me until I had eaten every morsel. It really was torture." Angie smiled sadly, picking up the sterling silver frame from the cabinet. Running her fingers over her late husband's face, she spoke softly, "It's a year next week," she said abruptly. There was no emotion in her voice. It was simply a statement of fact. Ginny moved to stand behind her, rubbing her back lightly in a comforting gesture she recognised as her Mother's.

"We'd just found out we were having a girl and he was so excited. He had to get her something." She laughed slightly at the memory, a tear running down her cheek. "Something pink. He said he couldn't wait, he had to go get it _right then_. He got her this pink elephant. It's still bigger than her! He went out to get it and never came back."

Ginny stared at the picture in Angie's hand, feeling helpless. She knew from experience that the only way to help someone through the grief was to simply let them feel it. Still, she felt helpless. Ginny continued rubbing Angie's back, silently letting Angie know she was here and that she was listening.

Angie placed her husband's picture back on the mantle carefully. "The last thing I said to him was 'you're an idiot'. Not 'I love you'. Not some cute pet name. I didn't even give him a kiss. I hit his back and called him an idiot. And then he died. Alone. On some dirty street. The last thing he saw was a barrel of a gun and a filthy gutter and… the last thing I said to him was 'you're an idiot'."

"He knew you loved him," Ginny said softly. "Just look at the way you're looking at him in these photos," she said, gesturing to the many photos of Angie and Adam that decorated the walls and tabletops.

"Sometimes I wonder," Angie murmured absently. She slowly placed the photo back on the cabinet, running her finger once more across her husband's smiling face. Finicky, she straightened the picture until it sat in the perfect position. Angie stared at the picture silently, until suddenly, she caught sight of her tear stained reflection in the frame.

"Oh God," Angie exclaimed, pressing her palms to her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean too get all - its just hard…without him."

"I know," Ginny replied inadequately. "I'm- I'm always here if you want to talk." Angie smiled thankfully at Ginny, squeezing her hand.

"Well," Angie said, shaking her head as if the motion would clear away her remaining tears and took a deep breath. She breathed out loudly, expelling one more tiny vestige of her grief. "In the spirit of opening up all these emotional wounds," she began, desperately needed a distraction. "can I hear about your disastrous relationship with the infamous Harry Potter?"

"There's not a large wound," Ginny said, turning away from Angie. "No big story." She walked to the middle of the room and picked up her glass of wine, swirling the dark red liquid around, watching pensively as it licked the rim. "We were together. He was wrong for me. It didn't work out." Ginny shrugged, still not looking at Angie. It felt wrong to discuss something so trivial when Angie had so recently had her husband taken from her. "That's it."

Angie raised her eyebrows. "That's it?" she questioned, unconvinced. Ginny nodded, smiling tightly at Angie.

"That's it."

"So there was an article about your 'abduction' in the Prophet and you haven't contacted your family since because 'that was it'?"

"What am I meant to say?" Ginny exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air, suddenly finding herself flying off the edge of an unspeakably high cliff. "Sorry, Mum, Dad. I know that leaving England in the middle of the night without some much as a cheery-bye was not the most rational decision I have ever made but I was scared that if you knew where I was you'd come and drag me back and I wouldn't be able to say no and I would end up living the life that they always wanted for me. Marrying Harry, having a Quidditch team of kids and hating my fucking life more and more because I can't stand being with Harry bloody Potter anymore who, while we're on the subject, my entire family adores and can't wait till he's an official member of the Weasley family, because I'm in love with fucking Draco Malfoy who took sadistic pleasure in breaking my heart into a million little pieces and who-"

"Whoa, Gin!" Angie exclaimed. "Take a breath. Calm down." She grabbed Ginny's flailing hands, caging them in hers, afraid that Ginny would dislocate her shoulder if she were allowed to continue with the large, almost comic gestures. "You had a relationship with Draco Malfoy? While you were with Harry?"

Ginny's eyes widened as she the realisation of what she had said sinking in. She began to deny ever being with Draco but stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath. "Just a little thing," she conceded meekly.

"Don't Weasleys and Malfoys hate each other for something that neither side can remember but still feel the need to hold a grudge over?"

"Yes," Ginny grumbled, flopping down on Angie's couch. "Oh and Weasleys are blood traitors," she added flippantly.

"How did you two happen?" Angie asked shocked, tapping Ginny's legs. Ginny raised her legs, allowing Angie to sit, before lowering them onto Angie's lap.

"Not much to tell really," Ginny shrugged. "He was assigned chaperone duties to my piano lessons in my 4th year by Professor Umbridge. She didn't think it was acceptable for me to have private music lessons given my allegiances; didn't trust me to roam the castle after curfew."

"And he was different than usual? So nice to you when he didn't have an audience that he had to impress?" Angie asked, swooning, a far away look clouding her eyes.

"No," Ginny snorted, bringing Angie crashing back to reality. "He was an utter bastard."

"What?" Angie asked shocked. "Then how did you fall in love with him? You're so sweet!"

Ginny snorted again, earning herself a glare from Angie before answering softly. Thoughtfully she said, "I don't know. I guess at some stage there just wasn't that malice between us. I don't think he's really capable of nice." she added as an afterthought.

GMGMGMGMG*~*~*

"Malfoy!" Ginny called, chasing him down the crowded corridor, pushing through the throng of first and second years she had found him in the middle of. "Hey! Would you slow down, I gotta talk to you!"

Draco stopped abruptly and turned to her, resisting the urge to flinch as she barrelled towards him, stopping mere millimetres from him. "Was that so hard?" she asked condescendingly, rummaging through the pieces of frayed- well, he supposed it was hessian or a similarly heinous fabric – that she used as a bag.

"Here," she said, thrusting a crumpled piece of parchment at him. He plucked the parchment from her, holding it with just his thumb and fore finger. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"And this would be?" he asked, holding the parchment a safe distance from his person.

"My lesson schedule. Umbridge said I had to give you a copy so you could 'suitably allocate your time around my imposition," she said in a perfect imitation of Umbridge. "Oh, and apparently I'm meant to thank you for so generously giving up your spare time so I can pursue 'frivolous extra curricular activities.'"

"Your gratitude is coming off you in waves," Draco sneered sarcastically. "Was there something wrong with an owl?" he inquired, folding the parchment as neatly as he could given its crumpled state and dropped it in his bag- that he was happy to say was made of the finest quality leather.

"I was afraid you wouldn't open it if you knew it was from me." Ginny replied simply as she turned on her heel and started down the corridor. "Don't be late," she bellowed over her shoulder. Draco rubbed his temples until he felt the headache that always accompanied her presence eased. God, he hated Umbridge.

GMGMGMGMG*~*~*

Ginny sat at the piano glaring at Malfoy as he walked across the stage, concentrating on the boards that creaked – loudly.

"Malfoy, would you give it a rest?" Ginny growled through gritted teeth.

"I am simply fulfilling my role as head of the Inquisitorial Squad and assessing the weaknesses of the school in order to report back to Professor Umbridge." Draco informed her pompously. "She has been such a good influence on the school, wouldn't you agree?"

"Master Draco," William interrupted tiredly rolling his eyes. "Would you kindly stop prancing around and give me some semblance of peace so I may educate my pupil?"

Draco's head snapped towards him. "Malfoys do not prance."

"I shall interpret that as a 'yes, sir'."

Draco slowly made his way down the stairs of the stage, making a show of levitating a chair from across the room towards him, despite the presence of a neat stack pushed up against the wall behind him. Ginny sighed heavily. "Ignore him, Miss Ginevra," Sir William advised. "Unfortunately it is in his nature to irritate."

"You've got that figured out after two lessons?" Ginny asked with a grin. "Always knew you were a good judge of character," she concluded smugly.

"On the contrary, Miss Ginevra, I tutored Master Malfoy for almost year,"

"He was so bad that you gave up access to his parents Gringotts account?" Ginny asked with sinful glee. She grinned at Malfoy who glared disdainfully back.

"Quite the opposite," William said, correcting her assumption. "Master Draco had vast potential and more than necessary skill. Long, nimble fingers and a technique that may well surpass yours, Miss Ginevra."

"Then why did you refuse to teach me?" Draco asked, loathe to ask in front of Weasley yet curious despite himself.

"Because you had no heart, Master Malfoy," William replied, impassioned, his fist clenched before him. "No heart at all," he repeated mournfully.

"Heart?" Draco scoffed. "Heart doesn't make you any good."

"Quite true, Master Draco," Sir William conceded with a sorrowful nod of his head. "Heart makes you great."

Draco didn't make a sound for the rest of the hour, preferring to track the progress of a spider across the wall opposite him. He was disappointed to note that the lesson ended just as the spider came to rest above the piano. A quick spell and it all could have been thoroughly entertaining.

Nevertheless, he took the stairs at a faster pace than he would usually have to ensure the Weaslette was always a sufficient distance away from him, struggling to keep up.

"Malfoy, slow down," Ginny puffed. "Any one would think you didn't enjoy my company."

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, waiting impatiently for her to join him. Why did the music department have to be so bloody far away from everything? It was worse than the Divination tower. What was wrong with a simple silencing spell?

"Anyone would be right," he answered unnecessarily.

"Hey, this is as painful for me as it is for you." Ginny replied indignantly, glaring nastily and crossing her arms defensively across her chest.

"I highly doubt it,"

"Careful, Malfoy," Ginny said, rushing to catch up to him. "You might hurt my feelings."

"Now that _would_ be a shame."

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Ginny realised that she didn't recognise this part of the castle. She surveyed the empty corridor intently, noting the absence of portraits and the many cobwebs lining the ceiling. "Ah Malfoy," she began, coming to an abrupt stop. "Where are we?"

"What do you mean – oh bloody hell," Draco swore. "Come on, Weasley," he ordered, brushing past her quickly. He quickened his pace as he heard her following him. Mentally, he cursed himself. He had been so intent on making the trek back to Gryffindor tower as difficult for her as possible that he completely missed the corner he was supposed to turn down.

Draco was surprised when she fell into step beside him. "How long did you play the piano for?" she asked curiously, sounding breathless.

"Why do you care?" Draco asked disdainfully, finally turning down the right corridor.

"Just curious." She shrugged. "Thought it may pay to at least be civil seeing as I'm stuck with you for the rest of the year."

"You're stuck with me?" he asked, staring at her as if she had just suggested he and Hagrid copulate. "I'm the one who was forced to be here to ensure you didn't cause any trouble!"

Ginny waved her hand in the air dismissively, making a soft noise of indifference. "Either way, being civil is not going to hurt. Give it a go, Malfoy. You may even find you like it," she said with a grin. She skipped a few steps ahead of him and then turned around walking backwards. "Come on, Malfoy. How long have you been playing the piano?"

Draco watched Ginny critically as she walked into a suit of armour – "You could have warned me, Malfoy!" – and decided that perhaps he could use being civil to the Weaslette to his advantage. After all, who was closer to the do-good trio but her?

"Since I was seven," he said guardedly. Ginny smiled brightly at him causing Draco to roll his eyes.

"Me too," Ginny reciprocated. "Bill bought me a beginner's guidebook for my birthday. Said he got sick of listening to me banging on the keys all hols."

"A guidebook?" Draco repeated sceptically. "You can hardly say you started playing the piano when you came into possession of a guidebook."

"I can too," Ginny replied indignantly. "I could play 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' by the end of the day!"

"When did you start _lessons_?" Draco asked sounding bored.

"Few months after my birthday. There was a woman in town who taught about five different instruments," she answered nostalgically, a soft smile gracing her freckled face. She looked up at his expressionless face and fought back a sigh. "Bet you had some famous instructor."

"Father procured Alexandro Roukie." He glanced at Ginny to gage her reaction. She was looking at him blankly. He rolled his eyes and informed her testily, "Roukie is one of the finest instructors in Europe."

"I'm sure he was a great teacher," Ginny supplied, placating.

"Mother had him travel to Hogwarts during the school year until she learned Sir Brackensouth taught here," Draco stated, ignoring Ginny's comment. "I think my mother had dreams of me being a concert pianist."

"Clearly if she was willing to pay William's fee."

"What use does ghost have for money anyway? It's not like he can do anything with it."

"You never saw his private quarters, did you?" Ginny asked, a knowing smile on her lips.

"Why would I need to see him outside my lessons," Draco sneered disdainfully. "My father wasn't paying him for his conversational skills."

Despite his indifferent tone, Draco suddenly felt inferior to the youngest Weasley and he didn't like it. He hadn't even known the ghost had private quarters. None of the other Hogwarts ghosts had private quarters and it was perfectly reasonable to assume the same of Sir Brackensouth, Draco rationalised. And yet _she_ knew.

Brackensouth had clearly said that he was the more skilled of the two and yet she was the one he focused on. She was the one he thought was so talented that she deserved to receive free lessons while he, the more skilful player, had to pay the stupid ghost an unreasonable amount and then suffer the indignity of being unceremoniously cut from Sir Brackensouth's student list. It was preposterous. It was wrong. Weasleys were under no circumstances better than Malfoys. No, Draco did not like it one iota.

"William collects things," Ginny replied, ignoring his response to her question. "Antique, priceless things. Paintings, vases, plates, carpets, I think the odd stamp. That all costs money. _Lots_ of money."

"Why does a ghost need expensive crockery?" Draco asked perplexed, unconsciously opening the door to the main part of the castle for her and standing aside to let her pass in front of him.

"William enjoyed a certain standard when he was alive," Ginny explained, choosing not to comment on Draco's impromptu display of chivalry. "And he doesn't think he should change that just because he's dead. Much like Professor Binns," she added thoughtfully. "just less sadistic."

GMGMGMGMGMGMG*~*~*


	9. Chapter 9

This story will not be Deathly Hallows compliant in any way as it was written before the book came out.

This chapter is darker than previous chapters. It contains violence and some characters meet an unfortunate end. If that bothers you, I advise you hit the back button.

**Snape's Visit**

Draco awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache. The sunlight streamed into his room, burning his retinas. Tilly flounced noisily into his room, greeting him with a sickeningly merry and overtly loud 'good morning, Master Draco'.

He sighed painfully as he rolled onto his back. He hadn't been nearly drunk enough before Tilly had removed all the alcohol in the vicinity. Consequently, he had been plagued by memories of her; of them. If only she had listened to him, given him a chance to explain. Stubborn, self righteous bint.

"Tilly," he groaned, "must you be quite so loud?"

"Tilly is sorry, Master Draco," she apologised, throwing the curtains open, causing Draco to cringe and whimper unabashedly. "Tilly is bad house-elf."

GGMGMGGMGMGM

Draco Apparated to his office for his morning meeting, his throat parched and stomach queasy, though thankfully, his headache had abated slightly. Throwing his briefcase on the couch, Draco cursed Tilly for hiding his potions as punishment for locking her in the kitchens, and had his secretary send in potions. He quickly read over the papers on his desk, hurriedly preparing for his meeting with Signor Scala.

He had a fragile relationship with Signor Scala Snr, the older man taking offence when Draco had shown little romantic interest in his daughter. Well, Draco mused, it was probably the littleromantic interest he _had_ paid her that he took offence too. His animosity towards Draco had since hindered the acquisition of Scala Industries.

His secretary's nasally voice interrupted his musings to announce the arrival of Signor Scala and his entourage. Draco's head pounded in protest.

"Signor Scala," said Draco, with mock enthusiasm, forcing his lips to curve into a warm smile. Many torturous meetings had taught Draco that his usual cold indifference did little to weaken Scala's grasp on his company.

"How have you been?" he asked, reaching out to shake the man's hand.

"This old man can't complain," Signor Scala replied heartily. "I have my health, a wonderful famiglia and a flagging company that _you_ are desperate to obtain."

Draco smiled tightly as the man in front of him laughed with gusto.

An hour later, Draco bid farewell to Signor Scala, no closer to acquiring Scala's company than when he first entered Draco's office. Draco sighed as he closed his office door, dulling the irritating man's bellowing voice. He sat at his desk working his way through a stack of contracts, making notes in the margin.

A knock at his door ripped Draco out of his state of concentration and suddenly made him painfully aware that he had not yet eaten.

"Greg," Draco greeted pleasantly. "How's Weasley?"

"Stop doing that," Greg huffed, throwing himself into the leather chair in front of Draco's desk. Draco simply smirked, reclining in his chair. Greg scowled and threw a folder at Draco's chest. "Scala is about to go into foreclosure, he can't hold out much longer. Next month Gringotts is going to seize everything he has. He'll be left with his wife's house and that's about it."

"His wife's house?" Draco questioned as he flicked through the comprehensive invasion of Scala's life.

Greg nodded. "She came into the marriage with two properties and a trust fund. The first property was a Villa in Italy that was sold 'bout three months back in a last ditch effort to revive the business."

"Find out anything else interesting?"

"Clean as a whistle," Greg replied. "Not a single mistress in the closet. No shady business contacts, far as I can tell. His son _did_ marry a Mudblood, but he doesn't seem to care," Greg finished with a grimace.

"And he has received no further offers?"

"Nope."

Draco allowed himself a satisfied smile at Greg's answer. "Good." He withdrew his wand from the top drawer of his desk, it was hardly good manners to leave it in plain sight, and tapped the silver disk that sat to his right. Small emerald flames erupted from the slight indent at the centre of the disk, his secretary's face appearing seconds later.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said pleasantly, a smile plastered to her face.

"Have some morning tea sent in, and send a message to legal that they're to start on new contracts for the Scala deal. My instructions are in my outbox." With that, his secretary's face and the stack of parchment in his outbox disappeared with a soft whoosh.

"You need a new contract for Scala?" Greg asked as a plate of scones with jam and cream appeared on Draco's desk. "What's wrong with the old one? You spent long enough in negotiations with the man."

"I'm changing my offer to forty million galleons," Draco said, smearing a light glaze of jam onto his scone, along with a generous dollop of cream.

"Isn' te askin' paw pifty," Greg asked through a mouthful of scone.

Draco wrinkled his nose at the sight of the half chewed scone swirling around Greg's mouth, a string of saliva joining his lips like a rickety bridge between two great cliffs. It worried Draco slightly that he had a perfect understanding of what Greg had just said.

"Yes, he is."

"Ven." Greg swallowed with obvious effort. "Then why would he accept forty? Doesn't make sense."

"Because he's desperate and I'm the only one interested in buying him out."

"So?" Greg asked confused, reaching for the small knife to spread the raspberry jam and cream across his third scone.

"So," Draco said slowly, a small, smug smile tugging at his lips, "he can't afford not take it. With the amount of debt he's in, if he doesn't accept, he will be worse than a pauper. He won't be able to support that _famiglia_ he values so very much."

"Couldn't you cut your offer by more then?" Greg asked, eyeing the remaining scone with longing. Draco pulled the tray closer to himself.

"Theoretically, yes, but Scala is a respected man in many important circles. To, for want of a better phrase, screw him over, would be to lose standing in those circles and possibly lose many fruitful deals."

"Fair enough," Greg grunted. "That's a good move, Draco."

Draco inclined his head in recognition of the compliment.

"Have you made any further progress in the Weasley matter?" Draco inquired nonchalantly, sipping his tea with carefully measured movements. He replaced the cup on the saucer with a touch more haste than he intended in order to hide the faint shaking of his hand. A thin stream of tea slid down the patterned china.

Greg leaned forward in his chair, his elbow resting on his knees, thick fingers laced together. "I have every contact I have keeping an eye out. I've put the word out about the reward for information that leads to her whereabouts but, Draco, you have to understand, she's changed her name, wand, and could have taken any number of precautions in terms of her appearance. Neither you, her family, friends, or the Ministry, has any idea where she might have gone to. The chances of me finding her are slim."

"You didn't answer my question."

"No, Draco," Greg said with obvious pity, the large man never having mastered the art of concealing his emotions. "I haven't."

GMGMGMGM

Draco sat in what had been his Mother's favourite parlour, after dinner, eating his way through a hefty supply of chocolate frogs. He looked up expectantly as he heard boots clack briskly along the corridor.

"Professor Snape," he greeted, rising to his feet, wrappers and Wizarding cards falling to the floor. "What have I done?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at him.

"You only ever visit when you think I've done something wrong," Draco elaborated, gesturing for his old teacher to take a seat. "Last visit was the Scala harpy. Tea?" he offered politely.

Snape accepted with a nod of his head, and within minutes both men held fine china cups brimming with steaming tea, whilst exchanging stilted pleasantries.

"Please, Professor," Draco sighed, "What is the purpose of your visit?"

"Gregory Goyle is a particularly dense choice of confidant, Draco. Ridiculously easy to garner information from."

Draco shifted slightly in his seat, masking his movements by crossing his legs. Bloody Goyle.

"He informs me that you have developed a rather sensitive obsession over the disappearance of the Weasley girl. And today, I learn from your father's portrait that you have once again been drowning your sorrows in alcohol. I did rather hope you would have grown out of that particular coping mechanism."

Draco rolled his eyes and resisted the sudden urge to pout.

"Compounding this is that Tilly has informed me that your obsession stems from a…relationship," he put delicately, "that you and Miss Weasley engaged in."

"Bloody good for nothing, loud mouth, traitorous, lecherous elf," Draco cursed under his breath. "Know any good poisons for elves?" Draco asked Snape, brightening at the prospect.

"No. House-elves have proved particularly resistant to many poisons, though they experience many ill effects, death is rarely the final outcome. I did tell your father that, given her young age, Tilly would be a poor choice of personal elf for you. However, she did exceed my warnings quite spectacularly."

"She's a bloody menace, is what she is."

"I've often found she resembles you," Snape said. Draco scowled at him. "But that is not my concern. I am, however, concerned about your drinking. According to Tilly, it has not been this severe since your parents."

Draco's face hardened, his lips thinning in a hard line. Snape sighed, his head hung slightly.

"This is nothing like that," Draco spat at Snape, unable to remain impassive.

They sat in silence, a thousand memories running through their heads.

GMGMGMGMGM

For the better part of a month, Draco had been hiding from the Dark Lord. Snape had told him not to leave the ramshackle hut he had dumped him in, but he had just wanted to see his mother. He hadn't even gotten to the wards of Malfoy Manor before he was stunned from behind.

"You ran from me, boy," Voldemort said in a sickeningly pleasant voice that made Draco shiver. "Was it truly wise to run after failing me?"

Draco just stared at the monstrosity before him. So human, yet so far removed from human that it seemed ludicrous that he was ever simply a boy. He exuded power. Draco could feel the magic crackling on his skin as the Dark Lord surveyed him, calculating his worth. It was the nose, Draco decided, that made him look so inhumane. His other features could have been passed off as human, but the nose. Those two slits that flared when angry in a way that would have been comic, had it not been for the sheer terror he elicited from all that looked upon him, bore no resemblance to the human race. The eyes, those red eyes, held Draco's gaze. He was unable to look away despite every instinct he had telling him otherwise. Draco couldn't look away. He looked into the Dark Lord's eyes and saw nothing. There was nothing behind those eyes. No soul, no conscience. Nothing but red.

"I had high hopes for you, young Mr. Malfoy," Voldemort lamented, twirling his wand between his long pale fingers. "A guiding light for your generation. A patriot," he sighed heavily. "But alas, you failed me, and a failing as great as yours cannot go unpunished." He paused as excited whispers erupted from the circle of robed figures that surrounded them. "Such thirst to see one of your brethren punished," the Dark Lord mused, amusement quirking his lips in a grotesque smile.

"His failure insults us all, my Lord," a deep voice called, the owner bowing his head piously towards Voldemort. Voldemort inclined his head slightly to the speaker in approval.

Voldemort returned his attentions to Draco who stood shaking slightly in fear. "You fear me, boy. I can practically smell it on you; rolling off you in waves. I make you sweat and quiver, yet you hold my gaze. It is… curious."

"I'm sorry, my Lord," Draco said, quickly looking away. Voldemort raised a hand, dismissing the statement.

"I would be too if I were you, but it shows courage if nothing else," he said distastefully.

"It is only fair, Mr. Malfoy," he continued, Draco's eyes drawn almost unwillingly to Voldemort's again. "That I give you the chance to defend yourself. Have you anything to say that may save you from my wand?"

"I-I'm sorry, my-my Lord," Draco stuttered. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "I never meant to fail you. I would have killed him had Professor Snape not intervened." Draco continued to stare directly at Voldemort, praying to anything that would listen, that the Dark Lord spared him. A sudden sardonic smile covered Voldemort's face.

"You are a skilled Occlumens," Voldemort praised slowly. "But not good enough. Do not lie to me, boy. You were lowering your wand, ready to disown me, your Lord, for the protection of that old fool."

Draco's eyes widened. He hadn't even felt Voldemort enter his mind.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. You can hide nothing from me. Had Severus not been there, all would have been lost."

"I'm sorry, my Lord," Draco started desperately, fear driving his words. "I'll do better next time, I promise."

"And still you lie to me." Voldemort shook his head and raising his wand, uttered his curse of choice; Crucio.

Draco felt his body contort in ways he never thought possible as he writhed and thrashed in a vain attempt to escape the all consuming pain of the Dark Lord's wand. For what felt like hours, he heard himself scream, as pain abated and returned with renewed force. The blood that began trickling from his nose only heightened the pain wracking his body.

"Bleeding already?" the Dark Lord questioned, giving Draco a small respite.

Draco took great heaving breaths, choking on his own blood and tears as he sucked in great gulps of the air he craved.

"Weaker than I thought."

Draco howled in pain as he was hit with the curse for a second time. The curse ended abruptly. Draco curled himself into a ball, shocks of pain still ricocheting around his body.

"Look at me, boy," Voldemort commanded. Draco didn't move; he couldn't. "I said look at me."

Draco gave a choked cry as Voldemort cast a powerful Stinging Hex at him. He looked up tentatively, bracing himself on his elbows, breathing heavily.

Voldemort beckoned to the man at his right. The man scurried forward. "Your arm, Wormtail," he demanded.

Without hesitation Wormtail held out his arm. Draco watched as, with a flick of the Dark Lord's wand, the sleeve rolled itself neatly up Wormtail's arm. Draco flinched as Voldemort touched one long pale finger to the man's flesh, and felt his own arm tingle as if it was his arm Voldemort used to call forth his follower.

"Now, scream for me."

Voldemort held the curse longer this time, prolonging the agony. When he finally relented, Draco sobbed his relief. He lay helpless on the ground, fearing the next attack.

"I apologise for my slow reply, My Lord."

Draco heard his father's voice cut through his head and felt his heart swell with hope. It was all going to be all right, his father would save him. He would convince the Dark Lord to let him go. It was all going to be all right. It was all going to be fine.

"The wards of Azkaban are still-" he stopped abruptly, a sharp gasp leaving him as his eyes fell on Draco. Blood trickling from his son's ears and gushed down his chin, staining the Hogworts' uniform he still wore. The blood vessels in his eyes had burst leaving his irises swimming in blood. "Draco?"

"I thought it only right that you be here for his punishment, Lucius," Voldemort stated, looking around the circle of eager followers who had edged forward as Lucius Apparated beside them. "Perhaps you have a suggestion as to what his final punishment should be."

Draco closed his eyes as Voldemort raised his arm again, not waiting for his father's reply. Pain shot through his body, every muscle contracting simultaneously. Suddenly, the pain left his body, and he heard an outbreak of excited murmurings from the circle of Death Eaters. Draco looked up to see his father towering over Voldemort, his fist clenched in front of him.

"Get your wand off _my son_," Lucius snarled. He pointed his wand at the fallen Dark Lord menacingly, flicking the Dark Lord's wand across the room.

Lucius raised his wand to curse Voldemort; to finish him. Lucius let out an angry cry as his wand flew from his hand. With unprecedented grace, Voldemort rose to his feet, Lucius' wand held almost delicately between his fingers. He reached his free hand up to his face, wiping away the drizzle of blood from where Lucius' fist had broken the skin of his bottom lip.

"You're siding with that whelp over your Lord?" Voldemort snarled. Lucius took a step to the left, hiding Draco from Voldemort's view.

"You will not touch him," Lucius growled. Draco pulled himself up to a sitting position.

Voldemort chuckled sadistically. "What makes an insignificant excuse for a wizard like you, think you can best me? You couldn't even best Potter and his little band of do-gooders." He twirled Lucius' wand in his hand and smiled sardonically. "Killed with your own wand, what a legacy to leave," Voldemort hissed and with a flick of his wrist, cursed Lucius. Lucius fell backwards, screams wrenched from within him.

The Death Eater surrounded them laughed as Lucius writhed on the ground.

"Still think your father will save you, boy?" He released Lucius from the Cruciatus Curse briefly, before recasting the spell. "I'm disappointed in you, Lucius. You were once one of my finest assets."

Draco watched as the curse was repeatedly cast on his father, unable to move, unable to stop it. Unable to take it anymore, Draco squeezed his eyes shut and clasped his hands over his ears. He didn't care how weak it made him look, he just couldn't take it anymore; couldn't watch anymore. It was all his fault.

He could still hear his father's muffled screams and the jeers of the increasingly excitable crowd.

"Lucius, look at the boy. Is that what you are enduring this for, this cur? This disgrace?" Voldemort look at Draco with distain, aiming his wand at him, and with a pointed look at Lucius, cursed him. Draco's back arched with the excruciating pain, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. Draco's body was given sudden relief, the curse lifted, his father's screams replacing his own.

"Lucius, you surprise me. You have never been willing to take on pain before, let alone someone else's." Voldemort bent down, coming to Lucius' level. Voldemort grasped Lucius' chin, pulling it up.

"I'm sure Fenrir will enjoy him," he hissed maliciously, "He does so like young boys." Throwing Lucius' chin from his grasp, he said flippantly, "Sectumsempra,"

Lucius let out a choked cry as his stomach split, blood gushing from the wound. Draco too, cried out in shock, crawling over to his father in a panic, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood with his hands. Lucius head turned slightly away from Draco's frantic face and then suddenly, he grasp Draco's arm, his fingers digging into the still pained flesh. Draco was thrust into the stomach lurching sensation of a Portkey and landed painfully on soft grass.

"Father," Draco cried hysterically, pushing his hands harder still onto the wound. "Dad!"

"Listen to me," Lucius choked through the blood that gurgled up from his lungs. "Run. Severus will tell you where, just run."

"No, no, no, no. I-I have to get you to Saint Mungo's. Oh God, I don't have a wand, I can't Apparate."

Lucius hand came up, grasping Draco's cheek. "You will be a fine man," he began, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, blinking back death.

"No," Draco interrupted resolutely, shaking his head furiously. "No."

"No father could be prouder of his son." Lucius smiled slightly at Draco, a single tear escaping out of the corner of his eye.

Draco's own vision was blurred by tears, his face streaked with tears; old ones, and new ones mixed like salty rivers flowing down his cheeks. "My boy," Lucius breathed as his eyes lost their focus. His hand fell from Draco's cheek. Draco could feel the blood on his father's hand smudge as his palm pulled across his face.

"Dad?' He shook Lucius lightly. His eyes were open. They were still open. He was fine. His eyes were open. "Dad!"

GMGMGMGMG

An hour later, Severus Snape found Draco curled up in the middle of the overgrown garden, his face buried in his knees. He glanced around, his eyes falling on the bloody body of Lucius Malfoy. He closed his eyes, forced to look away, shaking his head. He made his way over to Draco. He would deal with Lucius later.

"Draco," he said softly, kneeling in front of him.

Draco's head snapped up. He looked terrible. Blood stained his face, a clear path of tears running through a bloody hand print that marred his cheek; blood caked around his ears, covered his chin and shirt, his hands stained. He was pale and quivering, his eyes frantic and, yet, dull. It was like something had been taken from his very being. A piece of him was missing. And even though it was impossible, he seemed somewhat thinner to Severus.

"His eyes are open," Draco whispered. "He's still alive. His eyes are open. Right?"

Severus didn't answer. He helped Draco to his feet, and began leading him the short distance towards the house.

Draco looked at the house as though he hadn't noticed it before. "Where are we?"

"My home."

"Home," Draco repeated. Snape simply nodded, unwilling and unable to say anything.

"I want to go home," Draco said with sudden strength. "I want my mum. I-I need to tell her."

"Draco, we can't go to the Manor. The Death Eaters will be waiting for you."

"No, I want to go home. I want my mum!" Draco stopped allowing Severus to lead him and pulled in the opposite direction.

"Draco," Severus began, tugging on the boy's arm. He was too weak to put up a proper fight, but true to his stubborn nature, he gave it his best shot.

"No," he screamed, resisting the tight grasp Severus had on his arm. "I want to go home." And with a horrible squelching sensation, he was home.

Severus groaned as he took in his surroundings. The familiar parlour of Malfoy Manor looked back at him. Severus took a quick inventory, checking that all of him was there, satisfied and relieved when he felt everything in the right places. Severus couldn't believe it. Draco, despite his weakened state, had managed to spontaneously Side-Along Apparate them past the complex wards into Malfoy Manor, without Splinching either of them.

Draco took advantage of Severus' shock and bounded up the stairs determined to find his mother. "Mum," he called. "Mum!"

Severus followed him, frantically trying to grasp hold of him and pull him from the Manor, but every time he got close to the boy, he was repelled; knocked off his feet. Severus stepped in front of Draco as he scoured the many rooms of Malfoy Manor and grasped his shoulders.

"Dra-" He was forced backwards and landed painfully, meters up the hallway. He grasped the knob of the door to help himself up, and felt it give beneath his weight, sliding inwards. He let out a gasp at the sight. He heard Draco approach behind him and quickly turned, clambering to his feet, trying to shield Draco from the sight that lay inside. But it was to no avail; Draco could see past Severus despite his efforts of body him from the door. Draco fought to get in the room, his arms reaching over Severus shoulders as he screamed for his mother.

When Draco's back hit the wall, and he slid down sobbing. Severus moved away, quickly shutting the door to Lucius' study where the body of Narcissa Malfoy lay; her robes hitched up around her waist, her face bloody and bruised; her eyes as open as her husband's.

GMGMGMGMG

Draco sat numbly in a place he didn't recognise. It was dirty and old and draughty, and it smelt funny. He was still covered in blood and his body shook with the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse. He could hear them all yelling in the kitchen; Yelling about him like he couldn't hear them.

"He is a Death Eater," someone yelled furiously.

"He is a child." He heard Professor Snape thunder. He had never heard him yell like that. He was usually so calm. Biting, rather than deafening. "He is a scared boy who just watched his father tortured to death, and came home to find the body of his mother."

He heard a woman gasp and cry, "The poor dear," and heard mutterings from others that he couldn't make out.

Without warning the door swung open, a rounded, red-headed woman storming out towards him. He could hear the muttering clearly now the door was open. No one wanted him here. He was a Death Eater, he had gotten Dumbledore killed, and he didn't deserve their help.

The woman sat down beside him and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened in her hold and then proceeded to attempt to wriggle out of her embrace. "Oh you poor boy," she sighed, looking at him with pity. "Come on," she coaxed, pulling him out of his seat.

She was stronger than she looked, Draco thought absently. Or maybe he just wasn't trying very hard. He was so tired. He just wanted to lie down and sleep, never to wake up.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she said, her arm wrapping around his waist to lead him up the stairs. Every step hurt. It hurt his head, his legs, ears, eyes. It just hurt.

She led him into a bathroom and turned on the water, checking with her arm to make sure it was the right temperature.

"There you go, dear, why don't you hop on in."

She left the room then, the water still running. He just stood there. He heard a loud knock at the door and turned his head. The door didn't open immediately. He just stared at the wood with its peeling paint and rusting knob. Slowly, it opened and the woman came back in.

"I have a nice warm dressing gown for you to wear after your-" she paused realising he was in the same state as when she left some minutes earlier. "Come on dear, you have to shower."

He continued to stare at her. She sighed, a look of understanding coming over her face. She bustled up to him and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. She talked quietly to him, telling him her name and where he was. The Order of the Phoenix. Snape had taken him to the Order… but he was a Death Eater. And she was a Weasley. She was Mrs. Weasley. He barely noticed as Mrs. Weasley finished undressing him and ushered him into the shower.

The water was soft and warm as it flowed over his body, circling the drain in a crimson swirl. He looked up into the spray letting the water beat down on his tired face.

He stood there, his face turned towards the water until it stopped. He looked down to see Mrs. Weasley's arm at the tap and felt her take his hand and pull him from the shower. She wrapped the dressing gown around him, pulling his arms through the holes and securing it tightly round his waist.

She grabbed a towel from the rack and began towelling his hair dry, the fluffy towel making light work of the thin strands. Again she led him, arm around him, down the hall to a bedroom. He stood there while she got the bed ready for him, turning down the sheets and blankets.

"In you get, dear."

He crawled into the bed and allowed her to tuck him in. A sharp crack saw a house-elf appear with two vials. "Thankyou, Kreacher," the woman said sincerely. The elf looked familiar to Draco, but he was too tired to find out how.

"You're welcome ma'am," the elf squeaked, "Dirty, Blood Traitor sullying my mistresses home," he added as he bent in a low bow as if his proximity to the ground blunted the sound of voice, and disappeared with a loud crack that rang in Draco's ears.

"Here you go, dear," she said, softy pushing the vial to his lips. "So you have a nice long sleep without any dreams."

He drank the potion obediently and the one after that and began to feel drowsy. He closed his eyes, and felt the woman smoothing back his hair from his forehead.

GMGMGMGMG

Much to his chagrin, he had awoken the next morning, confined to the room. Soon after he woke, he sat rigidly on the wooden chair in the corner of the room, wearing ill-fitting clothes that had been left at the end of his bed. His head snapped towards the door as the wood scraped noisily across the floor.

"Draco, dear," Mrs. Weasley greeted cheerily. "I wasn't sure what you would feel like so I brought you a selection."

Draco raised his eyebrows at the five plates she had crammed precariously onto the shabby wooden tray, the floral pattern peeling.

"I'm not hungry," Draco said stiffly.

"Now, now dear, you have to eat." She placed the tray on the rickety desk beside him, the plate of scrambled eggs wobbling, the treacle running off the pancakes. Draco just scowled at her. "How about I leave it here for you and you can choose what you want." He nodded.

For the next week this routine continued; Mrs. Weasley bringing too much food for him, though she did manage to cut his serving down to two plates, three times a day. He didn't see another soul for that week, though occasionally he thought he heard shouts floating up the stairs.

Once when she brought his lunch up, she asked for memories. She was muttering something about 'emotional distress' and 'fragile minds' as she watched him draw memory after memory from within himself.

They wanted the Dark Lord giving him his assignment to kill Dumbledore, the vanishing cabinets, when Snape killed Dumbledore, and when the Dark Lord had him and his father. They wanted it all. He took the memories from within his mind, trying valiantly not to dwell on them. It felt better with them gone, but by dinner that night, they were back, and he couldn't help but dwell on them.

"They made a copy, dear," she told him, correctly interrupting his look of surprise when she told him he could have them back. He tried to leave the memory of his parents in the bowl, but she wouldn't let him.

"It doesn't do any good to delay the pain," she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and ignoring his wriggling attempts to free himself from her grasp. Why did she keep doing that? "Best to deal with them now, it will only be harder later."

Bollocks, he thought, later had never seemed like a better time to deal with something. So he shuffled them around, and filed them away; locked them up in the dusty confines of seldom used spaces of his mind.

On the ninth day he had been confined to the small room, which thankfully had an adjoining bathroom, the door was thrown open to yells of: "Molly, be reasonable...the boy's a murderer."

"Yes exactly," Molly cried. "The _boy_! The child. And I will not have him cooped up for a moment longer, do you hear me, Alastor?"

"He tried to kill Albus and Snape succeeded! Rosmerta, that girl, your own boys, Molly," Mad Eye Moody thundered as he limped into the room, his wooden leg clacking loudly on the floor.

A thin balding man Draco recognised as Mr Weasley followed Moody through the door; followed by a vaguely familiar woman with bright pink hair streaked with blue; Professor Lupin his robes as shabby as ever; Professor McGonagall, her face flushed and her lips thinner than Draco had ever seen. A tall black man in Auror robes that Draco had never seen before crammed into the small room after them and by a red headed man with what looked like orange goo slopped across his face almost rammed into his back. They jammed themselves into his room, all seeming to be held at bay by a furious Mrs. Weasley.

"You leave my Bill out of this," Molly shrieked. "Children make mistakes. Nothing will ever excuse what he did, but you saw Albus' memories, you saw Harry's and Severus' and even his own, the boy couldn't do it."

"Doesn't change the fact he tried, Mum," the red-headed man stated. Mrs. Weasley looked past the people in front of her, zeroing in on her son. The man stood his ground, squaring his shoulders. "Doesn't mean he didn't succeed in letting Death Eaters into the school; letting _Greyback_ into the school."

"Charles Weasley," Mrs Weasley screeched. Everyone cringed. "I will _not_ neglect a child so desperately in need of care."

She grabbed Draco's arm and hauled him off the chair. The small crowd of people parted easily, allowing them through. Mrs. Weasley, with more force than Draco thought her capable of, dragged him down the stairs and to a sitting room filled with mismatched and moth eaten chairs. Thunderous footsteps followed them.

"Now, Draco," she said, forcing him into a particular hideous arm chair. "You may go where ever you please and the kitchen is open to you, though it's not safe to go outside I'm afraid. Wards are weaker without a fixed structure."

Draco sat there for a few moments as the six people made their way past him to the kitchen. He saw Lupin throw up a ward and silencing spell, before the kitchen door swung closed. Silently, Draco got to his feet and walked back upstairs and to his wooden chair in the small room and waited.

It was a week later again that he saw her. Her freckled face was peering cautiously round a corner, trying, he assumed, to catch a glimpse of him. She didn't turn away from him when he caught her, simply stared at him, wide eyed. He was the one to look away. She wouldn't understand; he didn't want her to.

He closed the door to his room, cutting himself off from her. He didn't open his door till late that night. Everyone was asleep except the night guard on the front porch. He trudged away from her down to the kitchens. He had found a hearty supply of Firewhisky behind the pre-made cake mix in the pantry. Apparently, that was one place Mrs. Weasley would never think to look. It helped. Made the dreams go away, forced his parents from his mind, and banished the conjured images of his mother's violent death. It was better when he couldn't think.

Pulling out a half empty bottle, he poured himself a glass, and then another, then another, until he was forced to rummage around for another bottle. He couldn't quite get the lid off, and was just about to magic it off when the kitchen door swung open.

"Malfoy?" she gasped shocked, crossing her arms over her chest. She was wearing an old shirt over just her knickers. She approached him slowly. "What are you doing?"

"Drinking," he grunted, a smirk plastered on his face as he watched the shirt ride up her thighs as she moved.

She sighed as she saw the empty bottle of Firewhisky on the table. "How much have you had?"

"This much," he said, holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "About ten times." He snorted, amused to no end at his own wit.

"Come on," she said, pulling the bottle from his hand. He reached for the bottle as she moved it, but blocked him. "Let's get you to bed."

She grabbed his arm in a way that reminded him strongly of Mrs. Weasley, and he let her pull him up from his seat and begin to lead him out the room.

"My bed is that way," he said, pointing wildly behind him.

"That's the pantry, Malfoy."

"Oh, well it's this way!"

Stumbling up the stairs, he noticed that she smelled really good; a strange, intoxicating scent of apples and flowers. He liked apples.

She flopped him down on his bed, hauling his legs onto the mattress with difficultly. Silently, she turned and began to walk out the room.

"Don't you hate me?" he asked suddenly, his expression serious and sombre. She stared at him from the door way. "I hurt them. I hurt them all."

"That," she said softly, giving him a soft smile, "would make me a hypocrite. Get some sleep, Malfoy."

GMGMGMGMG

Draco sat swirling the as yet untouched whisky around the glass, the liquid warming in his hand. Carefully, he placed the glass on a coaster atop the table in front of him. Snape was right.

"So," a familiar voice said from behind him. "You've finally decided to stop brooding over that Weasley girl?"

Draco turned tiredly to the portrait of the country side that hung on the wall of his study, his mother's likeness standing in stark contrast to her surroundings; her elegant robes and fine jewels out of place with the outdoor setting.

"I wasn't brooding," Draco denied softly.

"Yes, I quite agree," his father said, strolling into frame, "Pouting would be a more appropriate label for your behaviour of late."

"I wasn't pouting either," he said hotly, rising to his feet.

He crossed the room to stand in front of the painting, scowling faintly at the carefully configured oil. He understood now why Muggle paintings didn't move. He thought sometimes that they had the right idea, though he quickly quashed that thought. Seeing them, talking to them, was torture. They were so close, so very close, to being real, yet they were so far from it. He wished he could burn their portraits so he would never have to endure talking with them, but never telling them a word, never hearing a word from them. He had even lit a fire and taken one of his father's portraits down once, but he couldn't do it. He had tried and failed at so many things. What was one more failing? What was one more reminder of his shortcomings?

"I blame your Mother for this weakness of your character. She always did coddle you as a boy," his father continued sombrely.

"I coddled him?" Narcissa asked, a pale eyebrow raised in an speculative expression so like her son's.

"Yes," Lucius replied with conviction, a slight frown manipulating his pointed features. "You constantly insisted that I was too hard on him, and regularly sent him sweets at school, despite my explicit instructions to the contrary."

"And was it me that allowed him have Tilly back despite the fact she was becoming increasingly rude and difficult to control?" Narcissa asked her husband, in a voice Draco recognised as the one she always used before she received a new addition to her jewellery collection. "Was it me who buckled the second his lip quivered and personally went down to the kitchens to retrieve her?"

"I was simply anticipating your desires, Narcissa."

Narcissa chose not to dignify Lucius' words with a response, instead focusing her attentions on Draco. "You never answered my question, Draco. Are you quite finished drowning your sorrows in your father's finest whiskeys?"

"Yes, Mother," Draco whispered, staring at the edge of the ornate plaster frame. "I'm quite finished."

GMGMGMGMG

Draco woke, for the first time in months, without any residual effects of alcohol consumption. He felt refreshed; his head clear and body light. It was an odd sensation to not harbour the overwhelming need to throttle Tilly as she served him breakfast. Though, he mused in good spirits, a hang over wasn't necessary to inspire his ill will towards the spiteful elf.

He sat calmly at his overly large breakfast table, sunlight shining through the windows brightening the space, bouncing off the marble floors. He unfolded the paper beside him, casually pulling his forkful of eggs towards his mouth.

"Tilly," he called, placing his fork on the side of his plate. Tilly appeared by his side, looking up at him with a smile. "Where's the front page?" he asked, turning the newspaper towards Tilly. Tilly's smile faltered, her long fingers curling into a tight fist, the tips digging painfully into her calloused palm.

"Tilly lost it."

Draco held out his hand to the small elf. "Is that cashmere?" Draco asked in reference to Tilly's makeshift clothes, as she reached into the front of her crude shirt to retrieve the folded front page of the paper. Tilly nodded solemnly in answer to his question.

"Tilly could not get a stain out of Master Draco's jumper," the elf said, wringing her hands. "Tilly had to iron her hands before Tilly made her clothes."

Draco nodded absently. He really didn't understand Granger's claim that elves were mistreated. The healed faster than any wizard, so really their self inflicted punishments never lasted long. It would be counter productive if they did.

He unfolded the front page carefully his eyes drawn to the bold print of the headline like a shark to blood. They glared up at him, daring him to react.

**GINNY WEALSEY SPOTTED IN DUBLIN**

…_browsing the antique store, her telltale red hair was a beacon to anyone who knew her. The former friend of the war time hero, Megan Jones, says that the youngest of the Weasley brood, fondly known as Ginny, rushed out of the store after exchanging a few, quick pleasantries. In an unsettling sequence of events, Ginny was followed swiftly by a large man, whose face was obscured by the shelves. Concerned, Miss Jones followed Miss Weasley out of the shop only to hear a strangled cry and find no trace of her on the street. For more details turn to page four. _

Scanning quickly, Draco took in the rest of the article, his hold on the paper tightening with every word, until his fingers burst through the grey paper.

GMGMGMGM


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you to all those who have followed or put this story on alert, and a special thank you to those who took the time to review. Reviews are always great to receive and I thank all those who have given me feedback.

There are direct quotes from Order of the Phoenix in this chapter towards the end, mainly dialogue from chapter 38, The Second War Begins. I hope they've been woven in pretty seamlessly. I was rereading the book at the time I wrote most of this chapter so it seemed silly to be writing a scene that takes place in the book without some direct reference.

**Lessons**

Molly Weasley burst into the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with Arthur trailing behind her. She wound her way through the haphazardly arranged shelves, brandishing the paper at her sons.

As Molly came to a stop in front of the counter, for which Fred was currently feeling immensely grateful for, he tucked his arm behind his back to hide the burn salve that covered much of his forearm. He hoped that she didn't recognise the smell.

"Mother, Father," he greeted his jovially. "To what do we owe this auspicious honour?"

"Perhaps you wish to buy some Frolicking Fudge?" George asked, winking at his parents cheekily.

"Or Gut-Wrenching Candy."

"Or perhaps something from our alcoholic range?"

"Some Tequila Smarties maybe?"

"Good choice, my dear fellow."

"Why thank you, kind sir."

"Boys!" Molly hissed, in no mood for her sons' antics. "Have you seen the Prophet this morning?"

Fred and George's smiles dropped, morphing into identical looks of concern. They worried about their mother; they didn't like seeing her so torn up. They looked over to their father, who stood slightly behind his wife with a look of hopelessness, born of complete and utter exhaustion, on his face.

It was widely known that Molly Weasley wielded a great amount of power over her family, with both her magical prowess, and ability to yell for hours at a time without a skerrick of oxygen, at a volume that made Howlers seem akin to a whisper, consolidating her rule. What was a lesser acknowledged fact, however, was that Arthur Weasley was what kept her strong. He was her backbone; the only one that could pick her up or comfort her when she was overcome with despair. The one she turned to when she didn't have the answers and the one she trusted above all others.

Except now, he could not comfort her. She would not listen, would not heed reason, and he found she was slipping further and further away from him. One of her babies was gone. She couldn't feed, nag or interfere; Ginny was intangible to her. He couldn't fix it for her; he couldn't make her pain go away. And it hurt him.

"Mum," George began tentatively, taking an involuntary step back from the counter. "The Prophet isn't really a reliable sou-"

"I don't care whether it's a reliable source or not!" The three Weasley men cringed as the decibel level of Molly's voice raised to banshee level. "We need to go there and look for her. That-that man! Might have her. He might be hurting her."

Arthur closed his eyes behind his wife briefly, missing the panic that flitted through his sons' eyes. Arthur let out a soft sigh before placing a hand softly on his wife's arm. "Molly-"

"No," she snapped, shaking Arthur's hand off of her. "We have to look for her."

"Mum, she left," Fred said, reiterating what they had told her many times before with limited success, unable to meet her eye.

"She would not leave," Molly stated confidently. "She couldn't."

The Prophet had been reporting sightings of Ginny for months now. Each one simultaneously gave new hope to Molly and tore it away. Each one persuaded her just a little bit more that Ginny wouldn't have left.

"She could and she did," said Fred firmly.

"She had money," George added, echoing his twin's tone.

"She was a secretary!" Molly exclaimed shrilly. "She did not have enough money to pick up and leave."

"Well…" George started timidly. He looked to his father for help but Arthur's eyes were downcast and staring vacantly at the floor.

"She had savings," Fred supplied quickly.

Molly's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Ten percent of our savings in fact," Fred admitted.

"She owned ten per cent of WWW?" Arthur asked startled, his head snapping up to face them. "Since when? Why didn't you tell us when she first disappeared?"

Fred and George watched as their father calculated the ten per cent; watched as he realised how much she had to live off. What was worse though, was that they watched as their mother finally broke. It was sheer bloody mindedness that had kept Molly from believing Ginny wouldn't leave of her own free will, despite the mounting evidence to the contrary, and now, that will had been destroyed.

Tears welled in her eyes and her bottom lip quivered. Her entire face seemed to crumple. Her shoulders sagged as the burden of holding so tightly to the façade that Ginny wouldn't have left, was stripped away from her. She stumbled slightly and Arthur clung to her to keep her standing, to reassure her that he was there.

"Mum?" Fred and George ventured softly in unison.

Molly looked up at them, her eyes filled to breaking point. She bustled around the counter, and gave them each a quick, but fierce hug that seemed to hold the duel purpose of reassuring them she was okay, and threatening them should they decide to leave her too, before she allowed Arthur to lead her to the back of the store, and into the Floo.

Arthur held Molly's hand as he helped her from the fireplace of the Burrow, holding her hand tightly as if to keep her grounded.

"She left us, Arthur," Molly whispered, dropping heavily onto the couch. Arthur fell to his knees in front of her, his hand still clasped tightly with hers, the other resting lightly on her knee.

She glanced over at the piano that sat in the corner of the room, used more as a mantle for trinkets and family photographs than as an instrument. Molly made her way over to the piano, the wood stained and scratched; the keys out of tune and covered with a fine layer of dust. Arthur wrapped his arms around her, resting his head atop hers, rubbing her back soothingly. She clung tightly to his slender frame, and made a mental note to feed him more often.

She stood there, embraced and protected by her husband of thirty five years and finally let herself cry, truly cry for Ginny; for her baby girl.

"She was so talented."

GMGMGMGMMGMG

"Bloody hell, Weasley!" Draco yelled, covering his ears with his hands. "How hard is it to find the bloody C?"

"Nobody asked you to come so keep your opinions to yourself!" Ginny retorted angrily.

"No, you asked me to come. 'Oh please, Draco,'" he said in a high-pitched voice, clearly meant to be her. "'I need so desperately to practice and that slag Umbridge won't let me practice alone. Please save me from my obscene lack of talent'."

"I do not sound like that, you great git!"

"No, you're right. There was much more of a whine in your voice." Draco ducked gracelessly as a jet of purple light streamed towards him. "Now, now, Weasley," he scolded as he righted himself, with all the dignity he could muster. "There's no need for violence."

"Children," William snapped, "could you at least _try_ to be civil?"

"I am being civil," Draco stated pompously. "_She_ is the one throwing curses around."

"If you weren't such an arse, I wouldn't have to throw curses around!"

William pinched the bridge of his nose, "Have either of heard the phrase, 'music hath charms to soothe a savage breast'?"

"I'm soothed," Ginny snapped.

"Yeah, well, so am I."

"I am way more soothed than you."

"Hardly," Draco scoffed. "You're about as soothed as a Horntail. _I_, however, am the picture of serenity."

GMGMGMGMG

"He was really a bastard all year?" Angie asked, a frown creasing her brow slightly. Ginny nodded her assent. "But _all_ year," Angie tried again.

"We always fought," Ginny replied nonchalantly with a shrug of her shoulders, "with gusto."

"But _all_ year?"

Ginny gave her a wry smile. "I guess looking back there were times when it wasn't so serious; when we weren't trying to make each other turn all kinds of funny colours, but mostly he was just a bastard."

GMGMGMGMGMG

"You know what struck me last night, Weasley?" Draco asked, coming to stand behind Ginny as she sat in the library, hunched over a transfiguration assignment, furiously scribbling. The scratching of the old quill over the parchment was akin to nails on a chalk board. Ginny turned her head slightly to glare up at him, her lips pursed, conveying her annoyance at his interruption. "You remind me of a buoy."

"Was that your way of offering to buy me a nice push up bra?" Ginny asked testily. She did not have time for this.

"Not a boy as in male," Draco said as if speaking to a small child, and rolling his eyes. "A buoy. One of those bright red things on the ocean that make sure ships don't run a ground." Draco smirked as her glare intensified. "Really, you're the spitting image. A glaring and distaste shade of red, big head and even bigger body. And tell me, just how many, urm, ships have you let run a ground?" he asked leeringly.

"You're a foul prat, Mal-ferret," Ginny hissed with all the venom of a viper.

"Mal-ferret? Draco repeated, a pale eyebrow raised. "Even your idiot brother comes up with better insults than that."

"I'm tired," Ginny defended.

"Mal-ferret?"

"Big assignment … For McGonagall. I was up all last night working on it!"

"Mal-ferret?"

"It's two feet of parchment on _one_ little spell."

"Mal-ferret?"

"Oh, just sod off, Malfoy."

GMGMGMGMG

Ginny hurtled down the corridor, late for her piano lesson. She burst through the door, breathing heavily, her robes billowing behind her.

"Sorry, William," she panted, slamming the door behind her. "Bloody Colin kept-" she stopped abruptly as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

Draco rose from a wooden chair that seemed to have only two legs, a fierce scowl on his face.

"Is there a reason you think it necessary to waste more of my time?" he growled.

"You know many people in this castle think me and my antics are cute and endearing, why don't you become one of them? It would make everything much easier," Ginny said sweetly, unconsciousness checking that her DA coin was safe at the bottom of her slightly singed pocket.

"Where were you?" he spat, ignoring her reply.

"That is none of your business!" Ginny stated indignantly. From behind Draco, William rolled his eyes, and floated over to the piano.

"I am a Prefect. Everything is my business."

"You sound like Percy," Ginny muttered, calmly walking over to the piano. She drew her book from her bag, flicking through the pages indecisively. "Feel like some Beethoven, William?"

"Weasley, if you don't give me an answer in the next ten seconds, I will take fifty points from Gryffindor," he snapped.

Ginny whirled around in her seat, her braid whipping around and hitting her cheek. "Fifty points?" she thundered. "How the hell are you going to explain taking fifty points from me?"

"You attacked me," he said simply, crossing his arms over his chest. "Quite viciously."

"No one is going to believe you," she stated with a snort.

"I will make certain that they do, and of course there are the witnesses."

"What witnesses?" she shrieked. "You can't just conjure witnesses out of thin air … well, I suppose theoretically you could, but no one is going to believe you."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, staring into her eyes. Ginny bit her bottom lip under the scrutiny, drawing a self-assured smirk from Draco. She looked to William for support but he was running his translucent fingers over the keys, wilfully ignoring the warring pair.

He couldn't do it, she told herself. No one would believe that she attacked a student. And push come to shove, she was sure William would back her story. Although, she supposed, there was that small dispute she had had with Michelle Wilkes. McGonagall had been quite clear that following in her twin brothers' footsteps wasn't a particularly bright choice of path.

She hadn't strictly _attacked _the girl, but McGonagall hadn't quite seen it that way. Apparently, giving Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products that may not have been safe for sale _just_ yet, was both morally ambiguous and against school rules. She would have given her the antidote eventually though, and really, Ginny thought, Wilkes' face had been a darn sight better in bright blue ... Maybe it was better not to risk it.

"Fine, if you must know," Ginny said dramatically, quickly thinking of a lie to account for her whereabouts. She doubted telling Malfoy that a meeting of a secret defence association, fondly known as Dumbledore's Army, had run late would go down too well. "Colin locked a classroom that I was in. He and Dennis thought it was funny. They said something about payback. Happy?"

"Not remotely."

Draco didn't say a word for the rest of the lesson. He just sat in his rickety chair with a scowl on his face, twirling his wand between his fingers, occasionally letting of jets of coloured light, and smirking when Ginny spun around to glare at him.

As he walked her back to Gryffindor Tower, for once walking at a pace that could be considered normal, he said, "You rush."

"Huh?" Ginny asked, caught off guard.

Draco rolled his eyes. "When you play. You rush," he explained.

"So?"

"So when you rush you make mistakes. The music wasn't meant to be played that fast. You're not playing the music; you're letting it play you. There was a reason Beethoven didn't write it to be played at the speed of light."

"Because he was deaf," Ginny offered.

He glanced at her quickly, before his pace increased. "So I need to slow down," Ginny said, speeding up to keep in step with him.

"Yes," he replied stiffly, "Speed is not always an indicator of expertise."

"Okay, I'll slow down next time I play Beethoven," she said confidently, pleased when he slowed down again. "Can I play Bach at light speed?"

GMGMGMGMGMGM

A few weeks later, Ginny lay exhausted in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, her broom discarded beside her. It felt good to have been in the air again. Everything seemed to float away and the world narrowed to just her and her broom.

"What are you doing here, Weasley?" Draco barked, looming over her.

"I think I may be dying."

"Then get off my pitch."

Ginny raised an arm, shaking it lightly to make her sleeve drop down her arm in order to see her watch face. "It's not your pitch for another twenty minutes, you over eager little ferret."

"As a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, it is my pitch when I say it is," said Draco arrogantly, puffing his chest out slightly and holding his head a little higher. The pompous action made his pointed nose stick in the air.

Ginny rolled her eyes and pulled herself into a sitting position, turning to look up at him. "You can't honestly enjoy being her lapdog?"

"Why would I enjoy it? I mean with the special treatment, ability to take points off whoever I like, whenever I like, and order everyone around. Nope. Can't think why they would be appealing."

"Fine," Ginny huffed. "_I_ get it, it's a good deal, but you can't think that the school is better off with her in charge? I mean, you do take Defence."

"Defence Against the Dark Arts is a load of crock anyway. At Durmstrang they actually teach you worthwhile spells and curses."

"Yes, yes, I know," Ginny said quickly before he could say anymore. "Your father wanted to send you there, but your mummy didn't want her baby boy so far away from her."

Draco scowled at her, drawing an indelicate snort from Ginny.

"Seriously though, Malfoy," Ginny said, sobering. "Do you like Umbridge running the school? If she had never come here, you wouldn't be stuck escorting me to my lessons. You love telling me how inconvenient they are for you."

"And trust me, they've gotten worse since the singing began," he sneered, shuddering slightly for effect. "My ears may never recover."

"Hey, my voice is not that bad," Ginny defended herself, scowling up at him.

"S'not that good either."

"How very original," Ginny deadpanned.

"Because Mal-Ferret was sublime."

"I was tired!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he retorted smugly. "Now Weasley," he continued pleasantly. "Get the hell off my pitch."

"I still have another fifteen minutes. Keep your knickers on!" Grabbing her broom, she stood up, dusting the dirt from her bum.

"What are you doing here, anyway? And is that Potter's broom?"

"Take careful notice of Harry's broom, do you?" Ginny asked, waggling her eye-brows in an expression eerily akin to the twins.

"Not nearly as often as you do, but I suppose Corner is scratching that itch now, isn't he?"

"Are you always such a foul mouthed prick?" Ginny asked scathingly.

"You can have a mouthful of my prick anytime you like, Weasley," he replied leeringly.

"I'll take that as a yes," she answered, disgust lacing her voice.

Draco smirked at her. "Toddle on."

"I still have ten minutes," she said sweetly, digging the handle of the broom into the soft ground, the move shifting Draco's attention towards it.

"Weasley," he said with sudden glee in his voice. "Do you honestly think _you_ practising will give your team an advantage?"

"Why is that so funny?" she asked affronted, glaring heartily at Draco, whose smirk was now dangerously close to morphing into a full blown grin.

"That's hilarious. With you _and_ Weasel on a team, the cup is ours for sure. Ravenclaw will flatten you."

"Aren't you forgetting the little part of the game where you catch the snitch? I've done that a few times now; you've never really understood how to do that, have you?" Draco's glare intensified, and Ginny swore that she saw his nostrils begin to flare. "Besides _you_ only made the team because daddy bribed them, I made it on my own merit."

"I didn't buy my way onto the team," he said softly, the gentle volume cutting through the cool September day. "I earned it," he said gruffly as he turned away from Ginny's stunned face. "Get off my pitch, Weasley."

Ginny watched as he strode, his head held high, to the boys change rooms. Something about the way he said it, with such weariness, made Ginny vehemently believe that Malfoy had earned his spot on the team, despite the assumptions of the school. She felt a wave of guilt crash upon her as he disappeared from view. Slowly, she made her way off the pitch, the rest of the Slytherin team filing past her with sneers and accusations of play nicking.

With a quick _Scourgify_, she replaced Harry's broom in its spot in Professor Umbridge's office. She fastened the manacles, careful to leave the broom just as she had found it, all the while glancing frequently at the Marauders Map she had 'borrowed' from Harry. Still mulling over the last moments of her conversation with Malfoy, Ginny made her way back to Gryffindor Tower, threw the map back in Harry's trunk and grabbed her book bag to finish her potions essay.

She was in the library, just finishing the conclusion on the effects of newt versus salamander eyes in potions, when she felt an arm snake around her waist. She turned to face Michael, giving him a quick peck on the lips in greeting.

"Sorry, Michael," she started apologetically. "I need about another ten to finish this off and then I have a piano lesson."

Michael pouted at her, wrapping his arms further around her waist, turning her to him. "What if I give you a hand with the essay-" Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. He may have been a Ravenclaw, but potions was definitely not his best subject. "Hey, I did the same assignment last year, I still have it in my dorm." Ginny rolled her eyes at that admission. "If I owl it to you, you can go through it and benefit from Snape's rather harsh comments … after your lesson, which would give you ten minutes right now to devote to me."

Ginny retuned his grin, deviously. "That does sound like a good plan," she breathed, leaning towards him.

"And," Michael added, his lips, brushing Ginny's lightly as he spoke through a nefarious grin, "it is a well known fact that you need relaxation time when studying."

"Well if it's a fact."

Thirty minutes later, Ginny skidded to a halt outside the music room, breathing heavily. Malfoy stood lazily against the door, a disdainful expression staring down at her.

"You're late."

"I was working on a potions essay," she panted.

"Do try not to wheeze over me," Draco sneered down at her distastefully. "I don't fancy Corner's slobber being spat all over me, along with whatever diseases you naturally carry."

GMGMGMGMGMG

"So yeah, like I said, the whole year was basically like that," Ginny continued to a captive Angie. "Snipping and insults. I suppose it did all become a tad more light-hearted as we got used to each other, but mostly he didn't want to be civil."

"Sounds like you gave as good as you got," Angie said with an annoyingly knowing grin. If Ginny hadn't known better, she would have thought that Angie thought that _she_ was just as much to blame for the animosity between them as Draco was.

"Well, I wasn't going to be a bloody push over, was I?" Ginny stated indignantly, ignoring the fact that Angie was still looking at her like she could see through her somehow.

Ginny didn't like that look. It made her uncomfortable that someone might know something about her that she didn't recognise; like they could read her thoughts.

Ginny busied herself with refilling her still half full glass of red wine as an excuse to look away from Angie, and dove back into her story.

She had told this story twice already in recent months, but it felt different somehow with Angie. She could tell her everything if she wanted. She wasn't regulated by the fact she was talking to a Muggle, or her brother, and thus editing the story where necessary. It didn't feel as fresh anymore, either. There wasn't anything to be lost or gained from telling Angie her story. Ginny wasn't going to fall apart and Angie wasn't going to stop being her friend by the time she got to the end.

Angie already knew all about the world she had left behind and she wouldn't be as hypocritical and judgemental as her brothers' would have been about her relationships with Harry and Draco. She knew they didn't mean to be, they just couldn't help it; she was their baby sister. And the thing about being the baby was they only saw what they wanted to see. She was always little Ginny. The little sister who they spoiled and teased.

They tried to protect and shield her from everything they deemed inappropriate and refused to recognise the slew of things they should have helped her with. They didn't notice she had no friends in her first year, they only noticed that she was a bit peaky and put it down to her missing mum and dad. They didn't notice that she had grown up, only that boys with questionable motives had started bothering her. But perhaps the worst thing about being the baby of the family was that each of her brothers expected so much of her; each had a different idea of what she could be. She had been so afraid of disappointing them all.

"Everything changed at the end of the year though," Ginny continued hurriedly, watching the wine meld seamlessly into the liquid already in her glass. "I don't think he couldn't believe that I'd actually hexed him. He stared up at me in disbelief as his own bogeys attacked him. It was kind of funny."

GMGMGMGMGM

Draco settled himself in Umbridge's chair, his feet resting on her desk, twirling Harry's wand between his fingers, taunting them.

"You're slime, Malfoy," Ginny spat, still trying to stomp on the feet of the much larger girl holding her captive. "How can you be helping her?"

"My father believes that Professor Umbridge is the best thing to happen to Hogwarts in a long time. Already she's starting purging the school of … unsavoury characters."

"For the love of Merlin, Malfoy!" Ginny yelled, staring at Malfoy motionless. She felt her captor release her grip slightly, as Ginny stopped trying to break her toes and shins. "Have you ever had an original thought in your life? Or are you that under the thumb of daddy that you just do what he tells you? Little Death Eater in training?"

Draco's smirk fell, morphing into a fierce scowl. Pointedly, he picked up the four wands that had been confiscated and slipped them into his robe pocket along with Harry and Hermione's wand.

"Bring her here," he barked at the large sixth year holding Ginny as he moved around to the front of Umbridge's desk.

Ginny stumbled forward to the sounds of Ron renewing his fight for freedom with newfound vigour. Draco grabbed Ginny's arm and pinned it behind her.

"Always following Potter, aren't you?" Draco whispered angrily into her ear as he held her wand arm tightly behind her back, her other braced on Umbridge's desk.

"Jealous?" sneered Ginny quietly.

"Only in my nightmares," Draco scoffed, pulling her arm a little further.

Ginny inhaled sharply. From the corner of her eye, she could see him smirking. _The bastard was enjoying this!_

"Let me go," Ginny snapped, suddenly struggling against his hold.

Draco laughed, acting as a cue for the other Slytherins in the room, and pushed Ginny further into the desk, his chest flush against her back.

Slowly Ginny extended her free arm back towards Draco, her fingertips brushing the tips of the wands he had hastily stuffed in his pocket. _Just a little further._

After a moment of indecision, Ginny pushed back slightly against Draco, his startled gasp masking the sounds of the wands knocking against each other. Grasping the wands firmly, she wrenched them from his pocket. Quickly finding hers, she let the other spray out across the room, and she cursed Malfoy with a yell.

Malfoy fell backwards, releasing Ginny in his panic as bat bogies flew around his head.

As Draco flailed around on the floor, swatting at his own bogies, Bulstrode screeched and threw a well aimed hex at Ginny. She threw herself to the ground beside Malfoy to avoid it, a few of his bogeys rushed viciously past her face. She gasped as she felt the bogeys gouge the skin of her check, surprised at the force at which they hit her. She stole a quick concerned glance at Malfoy, and noticed he was, although still thrashing, quite blood free.

Ginny clambered to her feet as Ron managed to break Warrington's hold on him and dove for his wand, stunning the larger boy who crashed down upon him. Refocusing her attention on the burgeoning duel, she took aim and stunned the boy –who was apparently unsure as to what to do now that duelling had broken out- still holding onto Luna. Freed from her captor, Luna calmly dropped to all fours to find her wand. Straightening up, she sent a stunner towards Crabbe, hitting him in the face.

"There you go, Neville," she said lightly as if Ginny and Ron weren't frantically blocking hexes from Bulstrode and the sixth year girl who had been holding Ginny.

Bulstrode turn her wand on Neville, "Petrif-" she began in a shriek.

"Expelliarmus," Ron bellowed, her wand flying from her hand.

Bulstrode looked momentarily stunned at being disarmed, before continuing her attack on Neville, curling a fist and punching him in the face. He staggered backwards, clutching his eye and stumbled into one of Umbridge's plush, pink arm chairs. Bulstrode continued to advance upon him, her face contorted into an ugly scowl.

"Impedimenta," Neville croaked, slowing the descent of Bulstrode's body, giving him the time to wiggle out the way of her attack, and throw a slightly off target stunner at the sixth year girl who had previously been holding Ginny. The hex clipped her shoulder with enough force to send her to the ground.

"Stupefy," Ginny yelled as the sixth year began to climb shakily to her feet, her left arm limp.

"I think there must be a Crumple-Horned Snorkack infestation in this room," Luna said matter-of-factly, tucking her wand behind her ear. "That's the only explanation to why they would have reacted the way they did," she said, gesturing to the fallen Slytherins around her.

Ginny, Neville and Ron stared at her in disbelief.

GMGMGMGM

"I remember reading about that," Angie interrupted. "Mum sent me the Prophet. You fought Death Eaters in the Ministry of Magic, right?"

Ginny nodded. "Lucius Malfoy broke my ankle, the bastard. Neville was so good in that battle. Knew he had it in him."

"He was that podgy boy who kept losing his toad, wasn't he?" Angie questioned. "Won the house cup for Gryffindor one year?"

"That's our Neville," Ginny said proudly as the baby monitor in front of them, flashed and garbled cries came through the white plastic.

"Aren't you going to go see her?" Ginny asked as Angie stayed sitting on the couch, looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish her story.

"Not yet. She'll probably calm down in a minute, anyway." Ginny sat apprehensively for the next few minutes, sure her breathing was loud enough to rouse the baby down the hall.

"See," Angie said as the cries calmed down leaving the room in silence and the lights on the plastic became dull once more. "She's started sleeping through the night now."

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked worriedly, craning her neck as if to see through closed doors, almost rising herself off the couch.

"Why don't you go check on her if you're worried," Angie said, laughter lacing her words.

"How will I know if she's okay?" Ginny asked, eyes wide, though she had already risen to her feet. Angie sighed dramatically, a bright smile lighting up her features.

"We'll both go then."

Quietly the two women pushed open the door and entered Harriet's room, the pale pink walls a backdrop to the wooden cot, a mobile of pastel sheep hanging over head.

"See," Angie whispered, stroking her daughter's dark hair and staring down at her lovingly. "Perfectly fine."

Ginny edged closer, stepping slowly and lightly, she peered into the cot, noting the slow rise and fall of the baby's small chest. "Perfect," Ginny repeated.

Angie smiled at her and breaking contact with Harriet's head almost reluctantly, she led Ginny out of the room.

"So come on tell me," Angie prodded, keeping her voice down despite her assurances that Harriet wouldn't wake for anything less than an epic duel.

"I didn't see him properly until the train home."

GMGMGMGMG

Ginny walked through the train having just said a rather wordless goodbye to Dean, her mind teeming with thoughts of Malfoy. She hadn't seen him since the battle at the Ministry past the glares he gave her on the rare occasions that they passed each other in the corridors.

"Ginny, Ginny, hey Ginny!" Colin called from behind her.

"Hey Colin," Ginny said with a smile. "Lost Dennis yet?"

"Nah, he's got a compartment already with a few friends, I was just wondering if you heard what happened to Malfoy?"

"Malfoy?" Ginny asked, her throat suddenly feeling tight. "No, what?"

Colin's face broke into a large grin. "Harry, Ron and a whole bunch of DA members hexed him, Crabbe and Goyle for having a go at Harry. I wanted to get a picture, but I don't know what compartment they're in."

"Sorry I can't help you, Col," Ginny answered. "But do you really want to get a photo of it? Malfoy will kill you."

"But it would be worth it!"

Ginny laughed at his enthusiasm. "You want to share a compartment with me. I'm off to join Ron and Harry now?"

"No, thanks. I better get back to Dennis. He'll want to hear all about it. Have a good summer, Ginny." He gave her a quick hug before rushing down the corridor and disappearing into the crowd of people still clamouring for a compartment.

"Hey guys," she greeted, as she closed the compartment behind her.

"Hello Ginny," Hermione replied, barely looking up from the copy of the Prophet she was reading. Neville waved at her smiling and Luna sent her a large, smile. "Have you seen Harry and Ron?" Hermione asked, "They should have been back by now."

"Colin said they were off hexing Malfoy."

"What?" Hermione cried, throwing her paper to her lap, glaring up at Ginny.

"Just what Colin told me," Ginny laughed, throwing up her arms as if to show she was unarmed.

"Maybe the Cranker Jonks have delayed them, Hermione," Luna offered consolingly, still stoking Neville's _Mibulus mimbletonia_ which was crooning in delight, well, at least Neville said it was delight.

"Yeah 'Mione," Ginny said, sharing an amused look with Neville, and suppressing giggles, "Maybe the Cranker Jonks held them up."

Hermione went back to the Prophet without another word, occasionally letting out a sigh of frustration and turning the pages with what Ginny thought was excessive force.

"Oi Ginny, you should have seen it!" Ron cried as he burst into the compartment, arms laden with Cauldron Cakes, with Harry close behind, both delighting, though Harry a little less jovial at having bested Malfoy than usual, in giving all the gory details of their encounter with Malfoy. They ignored Hermione's periodic harrumphing noise whilst she hid her small smile behind her paper. "It was gold. It may even be better than the Bat Bogey Hex … or that time 'Mione slapped him," Ron finished excitedly. "I've had such a good day."

Ginny sat slightly bored later as she completed a quiz in the Quibbler to determine whether her love life was subject to the whims of a hoard of Morkel Nuffs, Hermione's voice occasionally interrupting her concentration. Her ears pricked as Ron voiced lowered slightly. Realising they were only talking about Harry's relationship with Cho, she was about to turn her attention to the last question of the quiz when she heard Hermione tentatively inform the boys that Cho was seeing someone else now.

She hid a smile as Ron asked who she was seeing now.

"Michael Corner," Ginny offered, finishing the quiz happily.

"Michael?" Ron asked, leaning so far forward in his seat to see her that Ginny was afraid he was going to fall to the floor. "But-but you were going out with him!"

"Not anymore," Ginny answered decisively. "He didn't like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch, and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead." She hid a smug smile as she caught sight of Ron's delighted face, a wide grin covering his face from ear to ear.

"Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot," he said happily, as Ginny made a small noise of agreement and flipped The Quibbler upside down to mark her answers. "Good for you. Just choose someone – better – next time," he said throwing a significant look at Harry. Ginny rolled her eyes behind her magazine.

"Well, I've chosen Dean Thomas. Would you say he's better?" Ginny asked vaguely, suppressing a smirk.

"WHAT?" shouted Ron, sending the chessboard flying. Crookshanks darted across the compartment after the indignant pieces; Hedwig hooted angrily at the disturbance as Pig twittered loudly and attempted to fly out of his cage but only succeeded in clanging loudly against the steel.

'Well, I think I might just go to the bathroom," Ginny said pleasantly, handing the Quibbler back to Luna, walking off with a new found sense of jauntiness. There was no finer game than riling up Ron, she thought with a smirk, Ron's indignant spluttering following her down the corridor. He never failed to deliver.

Exiting the bathroom, Ginny wandered aimlessly through the corridors, killing time while Hermione calmed Ron down. While riling Ron up was a joy she and the twins regularly engaged in, the aftermath always grated on her nerves. He was like a dog with a bone; chewing and chewing until the bone splintered and snapped. Taking a breath, Ginny decided to find Malfoy; she doubted anyone had bothered to reverse the curses flung at him yet.

She peeked into compartments as she passed, trying to remember where Ron and Harry said they had left him. She back-pedalled as she noticed a seemingly empty compartment. Opening the door she heard a rustling noise. Looking up, her face broke into a grin as she saw Malfoy stuffed uncomfortably in the luggage rack, his robes wrapped haphazardly around him. She closed the compartment door quickly, and pulled down the blind, blocking them from the view of any passers-by.

"You see, Malfoy," she said softly, levitating him down from the luggage rack. "This is what happens when you take the cowards' way out. Are those boils?"

She smiled as she began to remove the various curses that had been inflicted on him. He probably deserved it.

"Get away from me, Weasley," he snarled as he regained full use of his extremities causing Ginny to abruptly stop waving her wand over him, and muttering counter curses. "I don't need your help."

"So you were going to un-hex yourself?" she asked, her temper riling.

"Why don't you just run along and go find your little stand in Thomas or whoever you have on the go now and leave me alone," he spat, pulling himself to his feet and straighten his crumpled robes.

"What the hell is that suppose to mean?" she asked indignantly, resisting as he hauled her to her feet and tried to force her from the compartment.

"Haven't you noticed a trend with your little playthings? They all happen to have dark hair, be a year older than you, and be a little on the short side. What a pity they don't need glasses, you may have given it up a bit easier," he sneered acidly, his eyes, cold and hard, boring into hers.

"You prick," she said softly, tears welling in her eyes. "You fucking prick."

"So full of compliments today," he said sarcastically. "Why don't you run along back to Potter? I'm sure he's getting a little warm without his shadow blocking the sun for him."

Ginny turned and stormed out of the compartment before he could have the satisfaction of knowing he made her cry. She heard the compartment door close with a slam and an angry growl that seemed to echo through the corridor.

She blockaded herself in the bathroom, trying valiantly to stem the flow of tears with deep, gasping breaths.

Bastard, she thought as she collected herself, turning the tap and watching the cool stream of water flow into the basin, and disappear in a whirl down the sink. Washing her face, Ginny took a deep breath and excited the bathroom, making her way back to her compartment. Right bloody bastard.

GMGMGMGMG


	11. Chapter 11

As with the previous chapter, there are some direct quotes from the series. This time from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, chapter twenty four, Sectumsempra.

**Descent **

"When we came back the next year, he was different. He came to the first few of my lessons and then just stopped turning up. Every time he saw me, he would insult me somehow, but it was … different. There wasn't the mean spirit he had before, but he was also colder.

"I didn't see him on the train to Hogwarts. Harry said he stayed in his compartment with Parkinson. I didn't really want to see him either; he had been a real bastard. I didn't have the chance to look for him anyway. Slughorn dragged me into his little Slug Club meeting."

"Slug Club?" Angie asked slowly, eyebrows raised, a small smile on her face.

"Yes," Ginny answered with a roll of her eyes. "Slughorn gathered anyone he thought was going to be someone or who had connections, like Zabini was there because of his mum. Harry was there, well because he's Harry."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Gin," Angie began, a full-blown grin on her face. "Why the hell were you in the 'Slug Club'?" she mocked.

Ginny glared at her, playfully shoving her arm. "I hexed this guy Smith and Slughorn saw me. Thought I showed 'great potential'. I think I became even more appealing when he started to hear about Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"

"Oh right, sorry. Yeah, the twins, Fred and George, started a joke shop. They started inventing in their fifth year, except mum doesn't know that. She thinks they only really started their sixth year, when they moved onto things that exploded. She's at a loss as to how they can come up with all these different concoctions for their sweets, yet they could only manage three O.W.L's each. Like Canary Creams," Ginny said, suddenly animated as she talked about her brothers, bringing a smile to Angie's face. "Little bit of that in a biscuit and you turn into a giant, yellow canary.

"I couldn't enjoy half their products at first though," Ginny continued darkly. "I was their guinea pig for a while, when Hermione stopped them using first years. I was the easiest to hold down, apparently. It's not funny!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Gin," Angie said, not sounding remotely sorry as tears of mirth began to leak out of her eyes.

Ginny scowled at her, crossing her arms over her chest.

"My nose bled for six hours before they worked out why I reacted differently to them!"

That admission only made Angie howl with laughter, grasping her stomach in an ineffective attempt to stave off her laughter. Ginny's scowl only seemed to heighten her amusement. Ginny rolled her eyes and attempted to maintain her fierce scowl as laughter bubbled through her.

"If you're quite finished?" Ginny sniffed, a grin breaking over her face. Angie shook her head. "Fine, I'm getting some more chocolate then."

Ginny stomped lightly to the kitchen, rummaging through Angie's cupboards to find the block of chocolate she knew must be there somewhere. She found a block of top-deck chocolate, and ripped the paper and foil off, placing the broken block on the plate. She momentarily considered leaving half the block in the kitchen considering they were on their second block of chocolate for the night, but quickly dismissed the thought, happily popping a piece in her mouth. One could never have too much chocolate.

When she returned to the lounge room, she found a somewhat sobered Angie eagerly awaiting the chocolate and remainder of Ginny's tale in equal measure. Ginny curled herself up on the couch, resting her arms on a pillow on her lap.

"So where were you?" Angie asked, waggling her eyebrows. "Have we reached the sex yet?"

Ginny shot her a false look of mortification, before laughing lightly. "No not yet. I'm only in fifth year."

.

.

"All right, I'm going!" Ginny bellowed as she rushed out of Moaning Mrytle's bathroom, a small pool of water creeping out from under the door. "No wonder the bloody bint never had any friends," she muttered as she began to stalk down the corridor, shaking the water from her shoes. Having covered no more than ten feet, Ginny stopped in a huff, took her shoe off, and began muttering drying charms over her sodden foot.

"Weasley," a voice barked from behind her making her jump. She spun around.

"Merlin, Malfoy," she gasped, her hand over her chest, her heart racing and breathing slightly frantic. "Make noise when you walk, scuff your shoes or something, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"What are you doing here?" he said angrily, glaring at her and clenching his wand by his side.

"I was going to the bathroom," she replied equally as angry. How dare he question her. She had every right to be here.

"No one uses that loo," he spat, gesturing to Moaning Myrtle's rapidly flooding bathroom.

"Take a Calming Draught already, Malfoy!" she gasped exasperatedly, looking at him in disbelief. "I was busting, and this was the closest loo. Why do you care anyway?" she asked suddenly. "It is the _girls'_ bathroom."

He stared at her for a fraction too long before answering. "I am a Prefect," he said quickly, but pompously, causing Ginny to roll her eyes. That was his excuse for everything.

"It is my responsibility to regulate any suspicious behaviour from students and frequenting an ill used bathroom would constitute suspicious behaviour, especially from you, Weasley."

"What do you mean 'especially from me'?" Ginny asked, mouth agape. "I'm very well behaved."

Draco just looked at her, eyebrows raised. Ginny stared resolutely back, her arms crossed defiantly. Draco cocked his eyebrow anew, shooting her a questioning look.

"I'm moderately well behaved," she amended, throwing her arms in the air dramatically with a sigh and roll of her eyes. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I can be where ever I bloody well want," he answered hotly.

"Well, so can I!"

They glared at each other, a silent battle of wills ensuing, neither wanting to be the first to break eye-contact. The bell rang, echoing through the corridors, the sound of shuffling feet and chairs grating on stone floated towards them. Ginny swore violently. She was going to be late for Herbology … again. Draco smirked as she hurriedly put her shoe back on, hopping on one leg as she did so.

Laces undone, she took off down the corridor, slipping inelegantly on her shoelaces, flailing to keep her balance; her bag slipped down her arm and trailed along the floor behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, anticipating some scathing comment from the blond, but he wasn't there. She peered down the corridor unable to find any trace of him. Shrugging, she continued down to the greenhouses, rushing to her lesson.

She didn't see much of him outside the Great Hall. He had come to the occasional piano lesson out of habit, she supposed, in the first few weeks of term, but his presence had become more and more intermittent, until he stopped showing up altogether. She found she missed his caustic remarks. She had become used to him being around and now he was more like a zombie.

The odd feeling of yearning to see him became highly irritating the longer he stayed away from her. It didn't make sense; she didn't even like the pillock!

She watched him from across the Great Hall as he picked at his dinner, his face pale and drawn. He gave a tight smile as Parkinson attempted to draw him into a conversation she was having with Zabini and Goyle. He kissed her cheek lightly and whispered something in her ear, which caused her to pout at him, before he got up, leaving his plate untouched.

Shovelling the last of her steak and kidney pie into her mouth and grabbing a couple of bread rolls, Ginny made her excuses to the increasingly aggravating Dean. Honestly, she was glad classes had started again and she had an excuse not to be able to spend time with him.

She followed Malfoy at a distance, dodging around those hurrying through the halls to dinner. He pushed past the thinning crowd towards the library, and disappeared from view, weaving between the stacks. Ginny growled slightly as she prowled the stacks attempting to locate him.

As she neared the back of the library, usually reserved for couples' rendezvous, a harassed looking Ravenclaw pair rushed past her, muttering about dirty, foul mouthed Slytherin gits. Glancing around furtively, Ginny snuck up behind Draco.

"What'cha doin?" she asked cheekily, peering over his shoulder.

Draco slammed the book he was flicking though shut, hiding the cover with his arms.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Weasley?" he whispered furiously.

"What are you reading?" she asked curiously, slipping into the chair beside him and reaching for the book under his arms.

"That's none of your business," he snapped, stuffing the book into his bag. He swung the bag over his shoulder and made to leave, the fierce scowl that he seemed to reserve for only her and Harry plastered to his face. She lifted herself from the chair, standing directly in front of him, blocking his path. He made to move around her and she dodged in front of him.

"Move, Weasley," he said threateningly, reaching into his robe for his wand.

"Why didn't you play in the last Slytherin Quidditch game?" she asked ignoring his command. "It's not like you to miss a chance to lose to Harry."

"I said move," he bit out, leaning down in order to get right into her face, his nose a parchment's width away from hers.

She felt his breath, coming in short angry bursts, on her face. "And what's with the first years you always seem to have around you?"

"Weasley," he warned, pulling his wand out and digging it into her stomach.

Ginny glanced down at the wand, the tip disappearing beneath the fabric of her robes. She glared up at him, whipping her wand out of her back pocket and running it up his thigh.

"Malfoy," she said, mimicking his tone. "And all the different girls," she continued. "Doesn't Parkinson get jealous?"

He dug his wand harder into her stomach, cocking his head to the side and glaring down at her.

"Think about it, Malfoy," she whispered, her head tilted up towards his face, twisting her wand into his flesh, and moving it slightly towards the inside of his thigh. "Who can do more damage?"

He dropped his wand from her stomach, and took a step back, pocketing his wand.

Ginny raised her wand slightly before lowering it with a speculative look at Malfoy, and dropped it into her robe pocket.

"Why are you so … subdued?" she asked, holding his steely gaze. He met her gaze with cold fury, a sneer etched so deeply on his face she feared that the ugly expression would be permanently fused to his features. "Harry's got it in his head that you're the reason why Katie was cursed and Ron was poisoned," she informed him.

He surged forward, grasping her upper arms, and before she had a chance to do more than gasp, he slammed her back against the bookshelf. He forced his knee between her legs, hoisting her up. His fingers dug into her upper arms as he held her in place, her face level with his.

"Get your freckled nose out of my business," he hissed into her scared, but contemptuous face. "Unless you want to experience a very painful accident. Do I make myself clear?"

She glared at him, refusing to give him an answer. His face contorted as a fresh wave of anger lit up his eyes and he shook her fiercely, the movement knocking books from the shelves.

"I said," he said slowly, his voice now soft and calm, but with a dangerous gilt to it. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," she hissed, glaring at him. "Let go of me."

He pulled away from her, his fingers uncurling from her arms, and she dropped to the floor. Ginny watched as he stormed out of the library, his robes billowing behind him ominously; the swirl of black encasing him.

Ginny rushed out of the library to her dormitory fuming. How dare he do that to her, that self obsessed jerk. She was still breathing heavily as she gave the password to the Fat Lady, and avoiding Dean, made her way up to her dormitory. As she lay on her bed, she wondered when she had started shaking.

Ginny avoided Malfoy in the following weeks; ducking out of view when she passed him in the corridor, and sitting with her back to Slytherin table when in the Great Hall.

Occasionally though, she looked around for him; just to check he was still there. Increasingly, to her frustration, he wasn't. He wasn't there that night and Ginny found that, after finding no trace of neither Malfoy, Crabbe nor Goyle, she didn't feel much like dessert.

She made her way back to Gryffindor Tower sitting herself down beside Ron, who was talking quietly with Hermione, trying to ignore the whisperings of the castle.

Harry Potter had attacked Draco Malfoy.

Harry came back to the common room after being summoned by McGonagall, pale and quiet, dodging the curious glances, furious glares from the Quidditch team, and barely concealed glee from McLaggen. Ginny sat quietly as Harry gave his version of events in the bathroom, as well as his meeting with McGonagall. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person," Hermione hissed the second Harry had stopped talking. "And I was right, wasn't I?"

They continued to argue over the book, each becoming increasingly more incensed at the other and convinced that they were right, but Ginny was only dimly aware they were still talking. Harry had almost killed Malfoy. Malfoy had almost tortured Harry.

Her own version of events played on a loop through her head, clarifying with every detail Harry gave. Malfoy raising his wand to curse Harry unprovoked and Harry defending himself with the Prince's spell. She saw blood spraying across the bathroom, sending Moaning Myrtle into a spin. You had to mean Unforgivables. Maybe Malfoy wouldn't have been able to curse Harry, so that meant that Harry had viciously attacked Malfoy with very little provocation … but Harry wouldn't do that … Malfoy would have cursed him though. He had scared her, bruised her, without a second thought, so who knows what he would have done to Harry … but he had been crying.

It made her head spin. Ginny closed her eyes, exhaling heavily, and she forced her imagination to the shadowy domains of the back of her mind.

"-got a reputation for Potions brilliance you don't deserve," Hermione said nastily, tearing at Ginny's fragile nerves.

Harry finally looked up at her as she snapped at Hermione.

"Give it a rest, Hermione," she exclaimed exasperatedly. "By the sound of it Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!"

"Well, of course I'm glad Harry wasn't cursed," Hermione exclaimed, a hurt look of her face, stunned at Ginny's tone. "But you can't call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny, look where it's landed him! And I'd have thought seeing what this has done to your chances in the match-"

"Oh, don't start acting as though you understand Quidditch," Ginny spat, "you'll only embarrass yourself."

Ginny glared resolutely at a spot just past Ron, who after sharing a glance at Harry, hurriedly picked up the closest book, Ancient Runes: A guide to unlocking the secrets of the past, and disappeared behind it, apparently enthralled, as he sat in that position for the next half hour, hiding himself from view. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat looking from her to Hermione, who was determinedly glaring the other way. He kept trying to catch her eye, but Ginny kept her eyes firmly plastered on the wall behind Ron.

The other students gave them a wide berth out of equal fear of Harry's reaction and the combined fury of Ginny and Hermione's wrath. Neville momentarily made to stop as if to talk to them, but took one look at Ginny's face and suddenly took a sharp left, colliding with Seamus. It was then Ginny decided that she was going to bed. She gave Neville a small smile as she passed, which he returned almost fearfully, before she took the steps two at a time.

She laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, utterly convinced that the stone had just moved, when she decided that perhaps sleep would be hard to come by tonight. Her dorm mates were fast asleep, their breathing becoming slow and deep more than an hour ago. Ginny huffed, scowling at the slab of stone that was now taunting her with its stillness. It was all bloody Malfoy's fault that she couldn't sleep. Bugger him. When had she started to care whether he lived or died?

Cursing his name, she quickly threw on a pair of trousers and pulled a dressing gown over her pyjama shirt, and crept out of Gryffindor Tower. She slinked down the darkened hallways, ducking behind a tapestry as Mrs. Norris strolled past her. The suspicious cat stopped fleetingly to sniff the air. Ginny held her breath, letting it out in a relieved sigh as the dreaded feline disappeared around the corner, tail in the air.

She cringed as the hospital wing's door squeaked, quickly slipping inside and closing them slowly. Scanning the room, her eyes fell on Malfoy, who lay in fitful sleep, separated from the other patients.

"Malfoy," she hissed, pulling the blinds closed, glaring at them as the metal rings grated on the frame. "Malfoy, wake up."

She shook him softly by the shoulder, hoping fervently that he was adequately healed so that she wasn't hurting him. He batted her hands away clumsily as he woke, his eyes narrowing as they became accustomed to the darkness of the hospital wing.

"Weasley, what are you doing here?" he sneered, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "Come to finish the job your boyfriend started?"

She scowled at him. "No," she spat. "I came to see what the hell you thought you were doing using an Unforgivable on him. And he's not my boyfriend," she added after a moment.

"Not for lack of trying," he snorted. "And it was self defence."

"You," she began louder than was strictly safe. She leaned into him. "You started it!" she exclaimed in a whisper.

"Precious Potty tried to _kill_ me," he spat, glaring at her, his lip curled in distain. "It was lucky Moaning Mrytle was having a dry day other wise I'd be worm food right now."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped nastily. "If he'd killed you, you'd be in Saint Mungo's morgue right now."

Ginny took a deep breath. It was no good attacking him like she had, no matter how much the tosser deserved it; it would only make him defensive. She began again, softly, trying a new tact.

"Malfoy, what were you doing in the bathroom?" she asked, not daring to meet his eyes, but unsure as to why. She waited with bated breath, not one hundred per cent certain she really wanted to know the answer, but she had learnt that hard way that ignorance was only bliss for those who wish to be deceived.

"None of your business," he snapped quickly. He seemed to be telling her that a lot lately. Bloody annoying.

"Harry said," she faltered, taking a deep breath before she continued in a soft, questioning voice. "Harry said you were crying?"

"I bloody well was not," he exclaimed in horror. "Malfoys do not cry," he said as if that ended any argument one might have.

"Malfoy," she whined, "stop being so difficult and tell me why your vampire-y arse was crying in Moaning Mrytle's bathroom."

"Vampire-y?" he repeated sceptically, eyebrows raised.

"You know because you're so pale," she offered weakly, gesturing in the general direction of his head.

"That would be the blood loss."

Ginny balked slightly, only now noticing that his torso was thicker than usual and white bandages could be seen between the buttons of his thin pyjama shirt. Oh god, her mind screamed, he almost _died_.

"Not up to your usual standard," he continued calmly, pulling the blankets as high as he could, without making it obvious that was his intention to hide his chest, and maintaining the façade that her mortified stare didn't make him uncomfortable.

"Oh, um," she stuttered finally as he stared at her as if to force her to make some kind of noise with the sheer power of his mind. "Right, well, I-I think I'm losing my edge, I, umm, have no one to, er, sharpen my claws on," she finished rather lamely. She pulled the small white chair that sat at the foot of his bed closer to him and sat down, crossing and uncrossing her legs under his gaze. "You stopped coming to my lessons," she blurted out, instantly regretting every having opened her mouth.

"I wasn't required to attend anymore," he said simply, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Yeah, I 'spose."

They sat in awkward silence, their eyes darting around the small room created by the wall of curtain. The silence was broken only by the rich snores of the boy closest to them. Ginny's eyes widen slightly, and she ducked her head quickly, as her ever roaming gaze accidentally passed through the path of Malfoy's.

"So, um, you heard Snape gave Harry detention every Saturday for the rest of the year?" she asked clumsily, staring at a spot just past his cheek, unable to endure the tense silence any longer.

"Oh, yeah, Ravenclaw will flatten you," he said with a half-hearted sneer.

"You said that last year," she replied with a small smile that he returned tentatively.

.

.

"Except Ravenclaw didn't flatten us," Ginny told Angie happily. "I caught the Snitch and we won the Cup."

"So that's when you and Harry got together?"

"Yeah," Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes. "He kissed me after the match. In front of everyone. Hard to believe that I was so happy about it."

.

.

Ginny sat quite contentedly in her piano lesson, pleasantly distracted.

"Ginevra, focus please," William said, taking a deep breath. "Mr Potter is not within sight and should not be able to so thoroughly distract you. You have another thirty minutes left of your lesson, which is costing me many Galleons, I would appreciate it if you concentrate."

"Sorry, William," Ginny apologised, without a hint of remorse. She hadn't thought she was that distracted. It was just she and Harry, Harry and her … together, was still so new, and everything was exciting.

It had been two weeks since he had kissed her after the Quidditch match and Ginny couldn't have been happier, although a little less time with Ron would have been nice. She didn't know how Harry put up with Ron and Hermione. She rather enjoyed being with them in the holidays, and she loved them both dearly, but Ron and Hermione's bickering seemed to increase as soon as they entered the castle. It had gone from being cute and amusing, to down right annoying. On top of that, Ron keep shooting her small satisfied smirks that spoke of approval and then hastily looked away in embarrassed disgust, whenever Harry touched her.

As her lesson came to a close, with not much more accomplished, a thoroughly haggard William, shooed her from the music room with a wave of his hand, lamenting that if he was still able to feel pain, he was sure she had just given him a migraine.

She walked out of the double doors, William floating through the wall across from her and down to his rooms to 'have a lie down'. Ginny rolled her eyes as she watched him disappear and turned to make her way back to Gryffindor tower, only to stop, shocked as Draco pushed himself off the wall.

"You still rush," he sneered, beckoning for her to follow him.

"You only said I couldn't rush Beethoven and Bach," she said cheekily, recovering from her shock. "Nothing about Loahie."

"Are you entirely incapable of playing music as it is written?"

"Yep," she replied happily.

Draco shook his head apparently disgusted by her lack of remorse. "Trust a Weasley to destroy the classics," he scoffed. He turned down a seldom used corridor, taking the long way back to Gryffindor tower.

"What is that on your neck?" Draco asked, as Ginny ran her fingers through her hair, lifting it off her neck for a moment.

Ginny's hand flew to her neck, covering the purpled mark. "Nothing," she replied quickly, a small, embarrassed smile creeping onto her face before it broke into a broad grin.

Draco looked slightly green as he spoke, "I can't believe you let Potty touch you. He's barely a Half-Blood and he's a bloody prat."

"High praise coming from the High Priest of Prats," Ginny quipped happily. Not even Malfoy's snooty and sour demeanour was going to spoil her mood.

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. "One," he said seriously, "I am not a prat and two, if I was, I would be the King of Prats, not some bloody lackey."

Ginny snorted as she broke into a skip, bounding in front of Draco.

"What in the bleeding hell are you doing now?" he asked in exasperation.

"Skipping," Ginny chirped. "You should try it. Come on, it's easy!"

Draco stared at the clearly deranged girl in front on him and sighed. It was disturbing that this interaction was not nearly as disturbing as it should have been. He was just too damn used to her antics.

"Come on!" she called playfully. "I assure you I will not tarnish your _evil_, Slytherin reputation by telling the school you skipped."

Ginny's face fell as Draco's face hardened, her happiness at having him come to her lesson fading away as his stride increased, and he walked briskly and purposefully through the corridor. He brushed past Ginny, who stood stuck to the spot at the sudden change in atmosphere, and she watched him ascending.

"Malfoy," Ginny started, falling into step beside him. "What's wrong? We were having fun."

"_We_," he sneered, "were not doing anything."

She grabbed his arm and pulled it towards her, forcing him to come to a stop. He shook off her hold on him, scowling fiercely at her. The torch light shimmered behind him, casting moving shadows across his pointed features, making the scowl seem more intimidating than usual.

"What is going on with you?" Ginny demanded. "You've been off all year."

"You don't know me, Weasley. Do not presume to know if I am 'off'," he bit out coldly.

Ginny started slightly; he hadn't spoken to her like that in a long time. She had forgotten just how vicious he could be. Not even in the library had he spoken to her like that. Then he had been angry and dangerous, but now he was just cold and calculating, as though no emotion existed behind his words. It was worse than in the library. Draco turned on his heel, apparently satisfied by her reaction, and continued up the stairs.

"No," Ginny snapped, grabbing his arm again, stopping him just before the landing. "You don't get to go all harsh and then expect me to let it go. You _have_ been off all year. You've been quiet, you're always tired, never eating, you're all touchy, your grades have fallen, you stopped playing _Quidditch_, you always look nervous and-"

"I am none of those things," he thundered, getting in her face in a successful effort to intimidate her; Ginny backed down a step. His eyes shone with anger and malice as he continued with harsh authority, "and you _will_ let it go, you delusional harpy."

Draco made his way to the landing before Ginny regained her nerve. His face contorted in anger as her voice cut through the silence of the castle once more.

"Don't you dare walk away from-"

She shrieked, causing Malfoy to turn sharply around, as the staircase moved out from beneath her. She flailed helplessly for a moment, desperate to regain her balance and stay on the edge of the stairs. She pitched forward as the staircase changed direction and let out a shrill cry as she felt nothing but air beneath her feet.

Images of her mangled body being discovered by house-elves filled her head as time seemed to slow. She imagined the pain she would feel on impact and wondered how long she would have before she was crushed on the ancient stone.

Suddenly, she felt warm, strong arms grab her around the chest and pull her towards the safety of the landing. Ginny felt herself being pulled backwards as Draco lost his footing and her back hit solid body and her arse hit stone; an arm resting around her neck.

"I've got you," he puffed, her legs still dangling from the knees down from the edge of the landing. "I've got you."

"Stupid stairs," she cried, slightly hysterical, crawling to her feet. "Shouldn't the fucking things be charmed against that sorta shite?"

"One would think," Draco replied after a moment, regaining his composure. Ginny stood not a metre away from him, breathing heavily, her hands on her chest. He noted the sound of stones grating against each other and said flippantly, "Least they were charmed not to rearrange with something in front of them, you might have ended up being legless." A sardonic smile took control of his face as he turned away from her, unsatisfied with the state of his heart rate.

She stared aghast as he calmly strode down the corridor. "Do you think my near death experience is funny, Malfoy?" she yelled after him.

"Mildly," he replied coolly.

"I cannot believe you – you prat!" she cried as she caught up to him.

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Hope you enjoyed and please review!


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